


Give Yourself Away

by laudanum_and_wine



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - College/University, And also canon-atypical violence, Bad Decisions, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Dealing, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, September 11 Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22582306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_and_wine/pseuds/laudanum_and_wine
Summary: Is it unfair to ask someone to change who they are for you, and is it still unfair if they don't know who they are?Coma/College AU: Lydia's the first person to see Betelgeuse, and he's the first person to care enough to show up for her. Neither one of them have any points of reference for this situation.Warnings- Firstly I don't know squat about medicine, comas, frostbite, etc. I know a little about crushing waves of depression, but your milage may vary. I know a fair about getting an art degree you don't want. Also, Beej is an occasional ass using ableist language, mostly about himself.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Lydia Deetz & Barbara Maitland
Comments: 88
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

Lydia decided it was deeply unfair that the first thing she ever said to him wasn't actually a thing at all but a choked scream. She knew it was deeply unfair both because it reflected terribly on her, and because he really didn't deserve that. No one waking up from a coma deserves to be screamed at, that sounded like the absolute and unequivocally worst thing you could do to someone who was coming back from a coma. A god damned twelve year coma to boot, she was now being told.

She'd been volunteering at the hospital for a long time now, she knew from the moment she'd started "candy striping" at the extended-stay facility that eventually she'd have a horror story. All the other volunteers did, sooner or later, something they did wrong or a patient did to them, some story to scare newbies with. Three years was way longer than she expected her good luck to last but now, finally, she'd put her foot in it and had been sent home for a week. She knew that yelling at a patient wasn't professional, was probably very very frowned upon, still somehow her luck was holding up and one of the staff doctors she'd worked with aside a bit had agreed to meet with her. All in all she'd just been glowered at sternly, and told she could start volunteering again next week if she liked. And that the patient she'd probably traumatized was actually making great progress. 

"Thank you for telling me, Dr. Kaufman, I'm so glad to hear he's doing alright. Would, uhm. Do you think I could see him today, to apologize directly?"

"Lydia," the doctor paused, as though weighing his words. "Yes, but please be aware he may still be a little out of it to say the least. He might not even remember that you were there."

"Really? He woke up over two weeks ago, I didn't imagine it'd take so long…" she trailed off, and shrugged as though to acknowledge her ignorance. "I suppose I don't know much about memory."

"He still doesn't seem to recall his name, or what happened to him, and he's been rather abrasive. Again, that's about normal during this stage of recovery. But I'll walk you down and introduce you," with that Kaufman stood, and gestured to his office door.

"Oh thank you! I appreciate that, I know you're busy," the girl jumped up, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She walked quickly out of the office and stood to the side to let Kaufman lead. "So all he remembers is that his name is BJ? No last name even?"

"Not yet, but that's not too unusual," Kaufman led her down several bland and quiet halls. Lydia was starting to feel very nervous, which she consciously realized was silly, but Kaufman's silence was making it worse. He probably shouldn't have told her quite as much about BJ's history as he did, and maybe that was occurring to him now because the doctor escorted her in silence. She'd been volunteering for so long that she supposed the staff sometimes forgot that was all she was: a volunteer. She'd been a fixture here every weekday evening for years and somehow, she thought. And she managed never to scream at a patient before, somehow.

In no time at all the doctor paused, knocked once on a door to his left, then walked right in. Lydia followed a moment after, wondering if BJ was frustrated by the total lack of privacy he'd woken up to. She would be.

Kaufman was making some introduction, but Lydia was distracted by the room's occupant and missed what the doctor actually said. 

Her patient (and wasn't that a funny way to think of him, possessively) was propped up in the bed, arms folded above the sheets. His fingers twitched on occasion, but he didn't seem quite able to move his arms yet. His long blonde hair was considerably more wild than when last she saw him, but his eyes were still just as striking as the first time she'd seen them. The whites were now far whiter and less worryingly-yellow than when he'd woken, but the bright green of his irises were still so distracting to her. 

Kaufman was leaving and she hadn't heard a word he said. She stepped closer to the man's bed.

"Uhm. Hello," she managed a smile. "My name's Lydia. I wanted to apologize to you for the way you woke up."

"What way..?" His voice was absolutely gravely.

"I, um, I screamed at you? A bit?"

"Oh fuck, right. You've got a set of lungs on ya, girl." He managed a smile, though it came off slightly unhinged. She tried to change the subject.

"Dr. Kaufman mentioned you're making amazing progress on recovering motor skills!"

"Not so great with the memory though," he groused, smile fading. 

"You remembered your first name though, right? BJ's better than John Doe."

"Is it? I remember being called that but, I dunno, seems like the kind of name I'd make fun of someone for having, it's only short for one thing. It's like hearing 'Hey dickbreath!' all the time."

Lydia snorted once, loudly, then squished down her laughter. She smirked, "What's it actually short for, do you remember?"

"Search me," he was smiling now too. "I think they did that, though: no dice. Not an ID on me, not even a library card."

"Well, do you want a nickname that doesn't remind you of..?" 

"I think you gotta have a friend decide your nickname. Can't just pick one," BJ looked just a little forlorn saying that. His fingers twitched again, but he kept looking at Lydia. She gestured to a chair near the bed, and when he gave a barely-there nod she dragged it over and sat. She didn't comment that nodding was actually an amazing thing considering his muscular degradation, she didn't want to sound pandering, but it was impressive. 

"Well, then we're friends. I feel like you have to be friends with someone who's face you've screamed in, I mean, it's only good manners, right? What kind of monster would I be to scream at you and then be like, nah, screw him. How do you feel about, uh… Beej?" She leaned back in the chair.

"I mean, you can probably get away with callin' me whatever you like," his grin was just a little sleazy now, but Lydia found she didn't mind. He needed a friend, she figured, after twelve years of no visitors and no memory of the life he'd lost. And she could certainly use a few friends who weren't geriatric. 

+++

"Hello Mrs. Maitland! How are you today?" Lydia always tried to start her conversations with the Maitlands generically. She considered both of them friends, but she also understood that sometimes you just didn't want to see anyone, and while Lydia might be waltzing out the door at the end of the day, Barbara wouldn't be for some time.

"Oh Lydia! I'm doing really well today, feeling much better than last week," the older woman sat up in bed as she spoke.

"Do you still have that awful cough that comes with this flu?" With Barbara's cheerful reply, Lydia entered the room and started changing out the small bouquet of flowers next to the bed. She'd actually brought a whole new vase today, so she simply scooted the old dead roses away and plopped down the new daisies closer to the bed.

"Yep, I hear I've got the dubious pleasure of looking forward to three weeks of that. But it's not in my lungs, so I'll live! Those are lovely, Lydia, thank you." Mrs. Maitland reached out and patted Lydia's hand gently, "You brighten the room even without flowers."

"You're obviously very sick and delusional, Barbara," the younger woman joked, then gestured to her outfit. She wasn't here in her capacity as a volunteer, just as a friend, so she'd worn all black and some dark makeup. Every Saturday she would stop by just to chat with Barbara, and Adam if he was visiting when she came by. The old couple never seemed to mind that Lydia was a bit goth on the weekends, and for the girl it was a nice chance to change out of the banal khaki she wore when volunteering. 

"Well, you're a dark flower but a flower nonetheless. Do they make black roses, I wonder?" Mrs. Maitland was shifting now, sliding her legs to sit at the edge of the bed. 

"Yes," Lydia pulled the wheelchair from beside the bed and helped Barbara into it. "They're my favorite flower, though I think they dye them."

"Of course they're your favorite," Barbara laughed, and wheeled herself to the table by the window. 

"Who's that making such a beautiful sound?" At the voice from the doorway, the two women turned.

"Adam! You're here just in time to see Lydia." Barbara looked at the girl, "Do you have time to stay and visit?"

"For you two? Of course."

+++

Lydia noticed the older woman shiver, and stood.

"Oh Barbs, let me get you a blanket!" She stood and peeled one off the bed, then draped it over the woman's legs. "I've kept you two talking so long the sun is almost gone!"

"We didn't even notice," Adam glanced out the window and nodded, it was indeed almost sunset.

"I'll take these old flowers and get out of your hair. Did you want me to bring you anything before I scoot off?" 

"No, thank you dear. It was good to catch up," Barbara made a 'come here' crook with her hand, and Lydia dutifully leaned down to have a shaky kiss pressed to her cheek. She turned to Adam, who squeezed her hand paternally.

"Well, love you both. Have a good evening!" Lydia scooped up the dead flowers and vase, waving from the doorway.

"Get home safe dear," Barbara waved as Lydia stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

She genuinely adored the Maitlands, talking to them was a joy. She normally found discussion about her college and career to be stifling and anxiety inducing, but the Maitlands seemed to genuinely respect her choices, listening to her fear and worries with an openness that her real parents never managed. And listening to their little wins, the mundane updates Adam gave his wife about the neighborhood and his work, it made Lydia feel less overwhelmed by the future and a little more optimistic. She was so grateful to have met them, and though Barbara's stay at the hospital had been long so far, Lydia could see that she genuinely was recovering. She'd be visiting the couple in their own home within the year, she was sure of it.

Lydia paused in the hall, thinking of the still extended stay facing BJ. He certainly was doing well in his physical therapy, able to stand if not to walk. It at least looked like he'd be able to walk sometime soon, unlike Barbara who was likely going home in that wheelchair. But that was months or years off for BJ, and Lydia thought that had to be frustrating to know. 

She turned left without really thinking about it and headed toward his room.

"Hey Beej?" She called from the open doorway, hands still occupied with the vase full of dead roses. She'd never visited alone before, and not on a weekend, so she wasn't sure how she should approach the man. She used generic greetings to give Barbara a chance to dismiss her if it wasn't a good day, but would BJ find that too sterile?

"Hello..?" She heard him reply, as she stepped into the room.

"Heya! I was in the area and thought I should check in on you." He was sitting up in bed now. "Did I wake you?"

"I guess so," he gestured at the now red window. "When I blinked it was noon, so… Are those for me?" 

She looked down, realizing she was holding the very dusty and dead roses, "Oh!"

"I should've know you were goth as hell," he laughed like the sound of a rockslide while gesturing to her outfit, and Lydia smiled. "Goth girl brought me dead roses."

"You like em?" She asked, stepping next to the bed.

"Hell yeah, leave them here. I'm sure they were going in the trash, but that's never stopped me from enjoying something before."

Lydia bit back a joke about trash-kings and his eyes looking like a raccoon, and left the vase on his bedside table instead. "How's it going?"

"Boring. All I do is go to physical therapy and sleep. Figured out I definitely used to be a smoker, and before you get excited that I remembered that, I didn't. More like 'still desperately want a cigarette when I'm pissed off at the fuckin nurses.' No offense." 

"None taken, I'm not a real nurse." 

"You're a volunteer here, right?"

"Yeah," Lydia pulled over a chair from the window-side table and sat near the foot of his bed. "I just come by for an hour on weekday evenings."

"Bring flowers and talk to the nasty geriatrics?"

"Yeah, but you shouldn't call yourself geriatric, you don't look a day over sixty," she smiled.

He laughed, but didn't mention his actual age like she'd hoped he might. "Did you leave me flowers before I woke up?"

"Yeah, I always like to make sure everybody has something pretty to wake up to." 

"Well I mean you were pretty enough, but a bit louder than flowers, I guess."

She hid her face in her hands dramatically, "Am I ever going to live that down?"

"Nope. What kinda flowers did I used to get? Before my upgrade to dead roses, that is."

"Daisies, live ones no less." Lydia dusted her skirt off. She actually really loved daisies, even if everyone thought they were common and bland. All the patients who didn't have a flower preference, be that due to lack of interest or lack of consciousness, got daisies.

"So what brings you here on a weekend anyhow?" He didn't comment on her flower choices.

"Just checking in with some friends. I declared us friends, remember?" 

"My memory ain't that shot, babes." He sighed. "What do you and your friends talk about?"

She paused, weighing the decision between the truth and a joke that would make him laugh. She couldn't think of something funny so, "Mostly how I'm a disappointment to my family and want to drop out of college. Also art."

"Woah. You mean being charming, beautiful, and selfless enough to visit us invalids every day isn't good enough for the fam? Cuz man, if that's the case then fuck em." He gave a half shrug.

"Sorry, I shouldn't unload any of that on you."

"Nah, what do I have goin' on that's so interesting? Tell me about art, or whatever." BJ settled a little further down in the bed.

"Well, I'm beginning to think I hate Impressionism, for one thing."

"What's impressionism?"

"Awful. You sure you want me to ramble about this?" She smiled. "I've been told I'm hard to shut up."

"Hell yes, teach me about art and shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is actually my first Beetlejuice fanfic ever written? The other smutty AF one I have up was written in between chapters of this more serious, grownup, has-a-plot story. Keep in mind I lie all the time, some or all of that may be untrue, and goodluck!
> 
> Comments/crits so very welcome! They make me want to keep writing, hint hint. Partially Beta'd, but all mistakes are on me.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey Dickbreath, what the fuck?" Lydia was storming into the room as she spoke.

"Ladies and gents, Lydia the charmer," BJ was leaning forward in his bed, shakily eating what looked like anemic applesauce from the lap-tray before him. His forever-pink fingers were shaking slightly, but he set down the spoon without trouble as she flounced over to the chair which she now considered hers alone. "You haven't seen me in a week, how in the fuck can I have pissed you off?" His voice was rasping, he must have just woken up before lunch.

"You made Hannah cry!" She pouted a little, unconsciously. He sighed.

"Who."

"Hannah, your physical therapist!" 

"Oh, yeah, no, I know her. I don't call her Hannah, though-"

"You're a fucking cad, Beej!" She pointed a finger accusingly. "You're nasty and mean and you made a perfectly nice woman cry yesterday."

"Did you just use the word 'cad?' Jesus, how anachro-fucking-nistic, kid." 

"You know the word anachronistic?"

"Hey: fuck you." BJ went back to his applesauce, "Ow'd to even 'ear aboot that?"

"Ew, no talking while eating dude," Lydia slumped in her chair, digging through her purse for her sketchbook. "Barbara told me, she had an appointment with Hannah after you. Said her eyes were all red, she was still pretty upset."

"Wait," the man swallowed and waved his spoon menacingly. "You don't even KNOW Hannah? New rule, you're not allowed to be offended on the behalf of humans you don't even KNOW."

"Let me come to physical therapy with you," Lydia sat up, opening her artbook and setting it on the foot of his bed.

"What? Why?" He leaned forward, trying to see what was tucked into the pages of her book. 

"Because you can swear at me instead of the therapist. And because I won't show you my new photos unless you agree," she fanned her hands over said photos and grinned up at him.

"I hate you," he resumed eating again. 

"So swear at me."

"Fuckin fine. Starts in an hour," he was muttering around applesauce again, but Lydia managed to ignore it. "Show me the photos."

She flipped over the first picture, a close up of a dead starling she'd found downtown. BJ snorted applesauce through his nose in laughter.

+++

"You're doing really well," Lydia chirped from the wall.

"If you're tryin to motivate me by makin me wanna walk over there and fucking kill you, IT'S WORKING."

Lydia gave him a double thumbs up, then went back to doodling. She was definitely a photographer for a reason, she'd seen enough of the other artists in her school to know that she wasn't particularly talented, but she needed the book to work out notes and hold her prints, so she figured she might as well work on sketching.

Her drawing of BJ was super simplified, but she thought she'd captured how disgustingly hilarious he'd looked after trying to inhale his lunch. She stared at the photo, then fixed it to give him ridiculously crooked teeth.

"... then maybe you shouldn't be such a-" his words caught her attention and she sat up to interrupt.

"How's it going over there?"

"Fucking marvelous," the man growled like a train wreck. 

"Awesome!" She gave another double thumbs up and added more wild hair to her drawing. She was excited for the remaining 55 minutes of this hour long session. 

+++

"Hey, listen, listen," BJ grabbed at her hand to stop her as she walked past his bed. She'd wheeled him back to his room in silence, and she'd honestly thought he was too tired to talk. BJ grabbing her hand really surprised her, so she stepped closer. His grip on her wrist tightened a little and he took a deep breath, "I'll forgive you for being a total bitch and promise not to make any attempts on your life if ya do me a real big solid and just fucking murder me now."

She snorted in his face and gently loosened her hand, "I like you alive. The better to watch you suffer." 

He heaved a dramatic sigh and threw an arm over his face. She folded the wheelchair up and slid it into the gap between his bed and end table, unimpressed, then rearranged the brittle dead irises in his vase.

"So how're classes?" He grabbed at the blanket futilely a few times before flexing his hand twice, then finally managing to drag it over his legs.

"They're good- are you cold?" She cut herself off, worried. 

"I'm always fuckin cold, babe. Frostbite just lingers forever and ever. Now give me an actual answer and not what you tell your mom."

"I think Hertel wants me to stay for grad school, and while he's been an amazing professor the thought kind of nauseates me?" She was pulling extra blankets from the cupboard by the door as she spoke "I'm only a junior, and while my parents have been kind enough to pay for college I'm pretty sure grad school would mean massive student loans. Which, I get that it's an investment, but I'm just questioning the value of an art degree at all?" She unfolded the blankets and threw them over BJ's legs.

"What would you do if you weren't takin' photos?"

"Uhm, I was thinking about that," Lydia wrung her hands. "You'll definitely laugh but, I could be a mortician?"

He laughed. She flipped one of the blankets over his head.

+++

"You're staying here over winter break, right pumpkin?" Charles looked up from the newspaper he was only pretending to read.

"Sorry Dad, but I have a lot of projects I actually need to be on campus for… I can come up on weekends like this, though, and stay the night?" She pushed around the scrambled eggs he'd made her, feeling a tad guilty. 

"Well, that's fine dear," her father patted her hand, then resumed his mime of reading.

"It most certainly is not fine," Delia set her cup down with a rattle. "You're between semesters, how can you have projects? And we'd planned on going back to New York for the week of Christmas: Charles, she needs to come with us to start networking with galleries and making connections!"

"Delia, it's fine," Charles paused, looking first at his daughter, then his wife. "Lydia has been a grown woman for some time now, dear, she can spend her winters, Christmases, and weekends however she wants."

"Well, we will be spending our Christmas in New York!" Delia stormed away from the table.

Charles smiled at his daughter and rolled his eyes, "You're welcome to be here, or in New York, or at the dorms whenever you want dear. But do call, if you're away for Christmas, alright?"

+++

"I don't know what changed, but Hannah seems much happier lately," Barbara was flipping through the newest photos which Lydia had brought, while Adam napped in the sunlight.

"I'm glad to hear it," Lydia said quietly. She fluffed a blanket over Adam, trying not to wake him. "Oh Barbs, he's drooling!" She snickered, and Barbra huffed a quiet laugh.

"Not sure why he came by today, being so tired. I think he wanted to see you," Barbra smiled and set down the prints. "So how's your other friend, the one who gets the dead flowers?"

"Oh! He's doing really well, uhm. Honestly I worry he's still a little sad, but he's trying very hard to recover, which is good." 

"Will he be out of here soon?" Barbara feigned nonchalance badly. She was hedging around a subject she didn't want to address.

"Not before you: I hear the plan is for you to head home within the month! Just in time for the most wonderful time of the year, right?" 

"Yeah. We're going to miss-" 

"Well then," Lydia cut her off, "That's just in time for me to come see you for Christmas! Do you have plans? Would I be terribly rude if I just showed up Christmas morning and expect you to feed me? That's a Sunday, even, so you can't turn me down since I'll be there every Sunday before and after that." Lydia was sorting her photos, pretending not to notice that the older woman had gone misty-eyed.

"Well I know you're not getting enough to eat now, so I guess really it's our duty to feed you," Barbara laughed wetly, and Lydia squeezed her hand.

"I like eggs, for what it's worth," Lydia said, noticing that Adam had woken up and was smiling. He settled back into the chair and resumed drooling while the two women discussed plans for Christmas morning.

+++

She was tired from a long day of driving all over once she peeked into the room to ensure BJ was indeed alone and not asleep. She entered with her most endearing greeting "Hey Dickbreath, Merry Christmas!"

"Lydia?" The man seemed genuinely shocked to see her and sat bolt upright in bed.

"No, the ghost of Christmas future: I come from the year 2000 to tell you everyone has terrible taste in music," she started to move a chair with the hand not current holding a badly wrapped box, but paused when BJ swung his legs over the side of the bed. She stayed still as he stood, admittedly shakily, and walked the few steps to the other chair. He paused before sitting with some obvious effort, then finally turned to look at her with a crooked smile.

"Oh my god Beej!" She ignored the hiccup in her voice.

"Ya impressed with my incredibly epic feat there?" he joked self deprecatingly, but Lydia collapsed into her chair next to him and grinned all the same.

"Seeing you do that was the best Christmas present ever. Makes mine seem lame," she pushed the box at him, surreptitiously drying her eyes while he was distracted. 

"You didn't have to get me anything at all, babes. I didn't expect to see you today…" He fiddled with his hands, just eyeing the gift.

"Don't thank me yet, just open it."

His fingers scraped against the shoddy wrapping which lifted easily. Her piss poor presentation may have had more to do with his fine motor skills than her coordination, but she'd never admit to it. He lifted the lid off the box gingerly.

"Fucking mittens? What am I, a 12 year old?" He snorted, but picked them up anyway.

"Hey, I didn't tie them together with a string, I trust you! But no, look at the palms: they're actually fingerless gloves with little mitten ends that go over them! So you can peel them back to do complex stuff, but cover your hands up if they get cold. They're only sorta a gag gift." Lydia smiled. She'd gotten them in an olive green: she'd wanted black or grey, something as bland as possible, but olive drab was the closest she could find.

"What's this?" He looked at the only other item in the box, confused.

"Oh, that's my old cell phone. It doesn't have a lot of features or anything, but the buttons are raised and pretty big, so I think you shouldn't have too much trouble. I put my number in there, so you can call or text me anytime."

"Text?"

"Yeah… I'll explain later, it's probably too cool and hip a communication method for an old geezer like you," Lydia tried to joke, but now it was BJ's turn to look serious.

"Thanks Lyds. This is really, uhm. Cool. This'll be super useful when I'm out of here," he turned the phone over in his hands, fumbling it a little as he did. He looked up, green eyes catching hers, "Seriously, thank you." 

"No problem, I wasn't using it. So did they give you anything good for Christmas dinner?" She eyed the still covered tray on the bedside table, trying to avoid the seriousness of his focused gratitude. 

"Didn't you eat?"

"Not since breakfast, I thought I could maybe steal a bite of your food?"

With a smile and a sweep of his arm the mood changed, "Mi casa is your casa, babe! If you'd like to bring dinner on over, I'm more than happy to sit here and make ya endure the hospital food I hate so much."

She laughed, fetching them dinner while BJ pulled his gloves on. 

He flipped back the mittens ends and wiggled his pink tinged fingers at her, "Toasty!" With another needless flourish he lifted the cover from the tray. "We've got pink stuff and, um. Green stuff. And white stuff. And jello."

"I'll take the jello," Lydia began.

"Like hell ya will: you can split this jello with me if'n we get through all the other… Stuff."

They moved on to the jello within two minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know anything about comas or extended stay hospitals, but I know a leeeettle about physical therapy and recovering muscle mass? And hospital food. Bleeegh.
> 
> But as always, if there are any glaring errors or inaccuracies that upset you enough to bring up, dude, DO IT! I want crits/comments/corrections for any little thing. I love you all, thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BJ's recovery is going well, and Lydia's Junior year is ending: get ready for the best summer ever.

"Honestly, I'm not even mad she transferred me: she was a shit caseworker to begin with and could NOT take a joke," BJ was seated at a table, fiddling with the pencil he held rather than writing.

"I heard you threatened to eat her cat, Beej."

"I mean, yeah, but it was ALSO some hilarious innuendo-" the pencil fell with a clatter. He growled and struggled to pick it back up for a few minutes in frustrated silence. He didn't manage, finally folding his arms and staring at Lydia, "So, are finals over, is that why you're finally visiting? No time for volunteering and school and work AND friends?"

"No," she sighed and took a sip from her can of soda to stall for time. "No, I still have one more final, but it's just a portfolio review. And actually, uhm. I quit volunteering as of last week."

"What. Really?" He dragged the pencil to the edge of the table and let it fall, catching it with his other hand in mid air. "HA."

"Yeah, I'm just visiting you and Mrs. Munroe as a guest now. And the Maitlands, though obviously that's different," she gestured for him to hand her the pencil. He did so a little slowly as though loathe to relinquish it. With one hand she bent the tab on her soda back and forth until it broke. She forced the pencil through the hole in the tab roughly until the ripped metal stuck into the wood firmly. With a nod, she dropped the pencil back on the table and gestured to it. He glared, but grabbed at it anyway, scooping it up on the first try thanks to the air-gap near the soda tab.

"Clever," he smiled at her.

"Yeah, now you have to practice the actual writing instead of fighting a pencil: do your fucking homework, Beej."

He glared, but began to try writing his name on the paper.

"Why Betelgeuse?" She asked, carefully sipping from her soda with it's now sharpened opening.

"Had to have something BJ stood for," he managed the B in his name well enough, but the lowercase letters were still a fight.

"Wouldn't that be BG?" 

"Listen, when I picked it I spelled it j-u-i-c-e. Not my fault they filled out the forms wrong."

"Did you know that particular star glitters?"

"The better to represent my sparkling personality," he grinned up at her, mangling the S he was writing. "You're the one who gave me your old astronomy textbooks."

"Because you threw the book of baby names I gave you out the window!"

He shrugged and started over with a big capital B. 

“I’m hungry,” Lydia complained and dropped her head to the table. 

“Do you like banana?” 

“I do as long as this isn’t also hilarious innuendo…” She eyeballed him suspiciously. 

“In YOUR endo,” BJ cackled at his own joke. “Check the drawer.” 

She went over to the bedside table and cautiously opened the drawer. “What..?” 

“I may have stolen a few pudding cups. Eh, I may have stolen MANY pudding cups.”

+++

Finals were done and Lydia didn’t want to be here.

She wanted to go back to the hospital and fall asleep in the chair by the window with a spare blanket and a stolen pillow. She wanted to listen to Beej talk about coin tricks and how he was mad that U2 sucked now and how he missed shoulder pads on women's dresses until he passed out. A selfish irresponsible part of her thought that she could just turn her car over, drive back to the hospital, and do all that. Wake up at 2am with a strained neck and drink coffee from the vending machine with Sarah the night-shift nurse, then draw a sharpie moustache on Beej before the morning rounds started and see if any of the doctors told him. 

She wanted to feel happy and safe for the whole of one fucking day.

The entire of her third year at college had felt like she was on autopilot through a series of shitty uncomfortable situations she floundered through stacked up back to back, with only her volunteer time at the hospital giving her a chance to feel good and useful. She'd had to quit her volunteer position to put in the extra time to study for finals, planning to start back up afterward. But now that they were done, she needed to pick up a second job for the summer so she could pay for an actual apartment next semester rather than be the only senior still trapped in the dorms. She was tired of feeling tired.

Lydia glared up the small hill to the house. She didn’t want to talk about her studies, didn’t want to put on her fake smile to match her awful not-black dress, didn’t want to drink shitty expensive wine with her step-mother, didn’t want to eat the awful food someone had no doubt reheated from frozen, didn't want small talk about 'was she showing in any local galleries,' didn’t want to breathe the scented-candle laden air, didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to be, didn't want to be alive- 

She started the long walk up the front path to her parents house.

+++

Her phone rang twice before Lydia realized it wasn't the landline but actually her cell phone ringing.

"Excuse me dad, I should take this," she grabbed her phone from her purse and made a quick escape out of the living room and into the kitchen. She pressed the answer button, but waited for the kitchen door to swing shut before she spoke, "Hello?"

"Hey, Lydia?" His voice was gravely as always, but also a tad quieter than she was used to.

"Beej?"

"No, some other guy who calls you at 8pm on a Saturday night. Actually yeah, I’m your fictional Canadian boyfriend: what are ya wearing?"

She snorted, "It's frilly and red and I hate it. I'm at my parent's place for dinner to celebrate that the school year is over."

"Okay, firstly there's plenty of frilly red things I can imagine which you'd look knockout in," he snickered.

"Ew, perv."

"And secondly, kid: my deepest apologies on what I'm sure is a shitty night."

"Thanks, dinner sure was, uh, a time. What’s going on with you?”

“Ah, I was wondering if you were free on Monday?” His words were a little hesitant.  
  
“Yeah, totally free, my last final was Thursday. Why?” 

“I’m getting sprung Monday morning!” 

“Holy shit that’s fucking awesome!” Lydia shouted.

“Lydia, language!” she heard from the other room. 

“Sorry Mom!” Lydia called toward the door, then brought the phone back to her ear, “Beej, I’m so happy for you! Did they help you find an apartment then? What part of town are you gonna be in?”

“The said it was further north than the University, but close enough that I can find a job at some shitty college coffee shop or something. I was thinkin' that since most of the crap I have here at the hospital is from you, ya kinda got an obligation to help me haul all this shit to my new place,” she could hear him smiling.

“Yeah, that seems fair,” she rolled her eyes. “You just want me and my car so you don’t have to ask your caseworker for help.”

“Got it in one. I’m trying not to alienate Juno, per your last expletive-laced recommendation.”

“You’ll get to her eventually, I’m sure. I can be there at nine, would that work for you?” 

“Lydia dear,” Somehow Delia had entered the kitchen unnoticed. “Do you need to go help your friend this evening?”

Lydia paused, realizing her mother had only caught the last few words of her conversation. She half covered the mouthpiece of her cellphone to address her mother, “I’m so sorry Delia, but yes: one of the patients needs my help and I really want to be there for them.”

“Oh is it that nice Mrs. Monroe? Why were you swearing so loudly?”

“Ah, her daughter had some good news. But uhm, they need a spare set of hands there to help move something for her. Tonight.”

“Gosh, isn’t she a little needy? You shouldn’t let the patients walk all over you, dear, you’ve not a volunteer there anymore. You shouldn’t be wasting your time so much, you’ve got a career to consider,” Delia patted her shoulder patronizingly before walking past her to refill her post-dinner glass of wine. 

“Well, she’s leaving this weekend so I just want to help her when I can, Mother.” 

“If she’s leaving I suppose you can go be her errand-girl one last time. We’d been hoping you’d spend the night here, but we’ll have you here for summer soon enough with the dorms closing.” Delia took her wine back into the living room, “I’ll tell your father.”

“Thanks,” Lydia glared at the door as it swung shut behind the older woman, then pulled her phone back to her face. “You just got me out of the rest of this evening, but I can’t promise not to kill myself over the summer.”

“You’re gonna be stuck living with that nightmare all summer?” 

“Yeah, the dorms close this Friday. I’m gonna try to get a real apartment for next semester, though, so I will never ever need to spend a night in this house after summer ends. Anyway, it’ll be fine,” she sighed, not wanting to make BJ feel bad for her. 

“Well go help ‘Ms. Munroe’ and have a nice evening in your shitty dorm room.” 

“Have a nice evening in your shitty hospital room, Mrs. Munroe,” Lydia replied sweetly, then hung up on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only know this from second hand experience, but leaning to write after hand injury is not fun and tedious AF.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes are out, summer is starting, and everything is great, except for the jaw dropping hangovers and total lack of sleep. Other than those, GREAT!

“Honey, I’m home!” Beej shouldered the door open with a box in his arms and a casually demented grin on his face. 

It turned out that BJ actually DID have a few more boxes than Lydia had expected, he’d managed to accumulate a slew of books from her and a few other patients who’d been too deaf or too kind to be scared off by his personality. And despite his moderate efforts at alientating another caseworker, the new one had arranged for the apartment and the utilities which were in his name but were paid for three months in advance so he’d have some time to find a job. And open a bank account, Lydia supposed, if he’d had one before his hospital stay it had been lost with his name and identity. 

He hadn’t remembered anything new since recalling the vague initials “BJ,” or if he had he was keeping it to himself. Lydia trusted the maybe-amnesiac to a degree, but despite their casual comradery she was sometimes all to aware that they didn’t actually know each other. She was his friend, but occasionally she wondered if that was because she was one of the only people he knew. She was fairly sure she would have befriended him regardless of how they met, but would he say the same? Were their differences in temperament actually an indication that in any other world they would never have even gotten along? 

“Aw, that’s sweet: you’re already talking to the roaches in here like you’re a family,” Lydia shook herself out of her thoughts, and sing-songed the words from where she was unpacking a box of her old textbooks. “You don’t HAVE to keep these, Beej. I just gave them to you to keep you occupied in the hospital,you’re welcome to sell them or whatever.” 

“Contrary to popular opinion,” he dropped the box he was holding on the kitchen floor. Well, the part of the apartment which held a toaster oven and a sink. “I am not actually illiterate. I like those books.” 

“Well okay. Do you want these in the living room or..?” Lydia held up a collection of english essays heavy as a gallon of milk. Beej had actually managed to haul in most of the boxes despite their weight: even though his memory and fine motor skills were still on the mend, he’d bulked up with more muscle mass then she’d noticed in the hospital. She’d even noticed a hint of actual bodyfat on the man now that he was out of hospital clothing and wearing casual clothing. 

“Oh, living room for sure: I don’t want the chicks thinkin I’m some kind of loser,” as if in counterpoint to his words Beej belched charmingly and sat down on the box he’d brought in. 

“Won’t they see them in here anyway?” Lydia gestured around the empty room. 

“Ha, like we’d be outside of the bedroom long enough for ‘em to notice!” 

“Ew,” Lydia said casually, and dropped the book with a thunk. “You need furniture.” 

“Yeah,” Beej looked around. “I need a bed, for sure. And I’m no gourmand, but I probably need a pot, a pan, and maybe one or two cups.” 

“You know the word ‘gourmand’?” Lydia joked as she scooped her keys off the dingy carpet.

“Fuck you.” 

+++

“Oh man, kid, when did you find those?”

“While you were making it look like the penguin salt and pepper shakers were humping.” Lydia pushed down the red heart-shaped sunglasses and grinned at him. “You like em?” 

“They’re perfect on ya. You need a lolly-pop, or better yet a cigarette.” 

“I don’t smoke, Beej,” She turned over the car, trying to see around the rolled up futon in her back seat to back out of her parking space. 

“Oh shit, that reminds me, can we stop at the corner store on the way back?” 

“Nope: you want to get lung cancer, you walk out to get cigarettes yourself,” Lydia quipped as she merged onto the freeway. “Hey, do you remember how to drive?”

“Not sure. Might have to sit behind the wheel to find out. I remember how to write, it’s just hideous cause’a my grip being shitty. But soon as I picked up a pen, I knew that I knew how.”

“Do you remember traffic laws? 

“Ya know, something tells me that even if I had a licence Before, I probably wasn’t big on any rules.”

Lydia chewed on that thought in silence for a bit, wondering what the hell BJ did in the time he was just referring to as Before. She figured there were three possibilities: BJ could have been your average slacker with a run of the mill job, or he could have been a (probably crappy) criminal with a questionable job, or he could have been jobless and likely homeless. And really, she’d put money on it being a combination of two or even all three of those options, particularly considering the moderate frostbite he’d gotten before arriving at the hospital. 

While she’d thought about this a few times, Lydia already knew that whoever he’d been Before, she didn’t particularly care. She wasn’t sure why she kept dwelling on the question though: if he never found out or never told her that would be fine, and if he did she’d be his friend regardless. So why was she still stuck on this? Was she just trying in vain to forecast his future? 

“You okay Lyds?” His voice was low, just audible over the sound of the wind and she realized they were actually already at their exit. 

“Totally, just thinking about what I’m going to do for a summer job. Did Juno set you up with any leads for a job?” 

“Yeah, I’m going into the temp agency tomorrow, see what they can find me. Figure I can push a mop or somthin’ as well as anybody with a full brain.” 

“You tell me when you get your first day off and I’ll buy you a drink, kay Beej?” She was pulling into his apartment as they spoke. 

+++  
“Why are you here?” BJ was standing in his own doorway wrapped up in what seemed to be nothing but a sheet. Lydia quickly raised her hands to shield her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, sloshing both the coffees she held. The good news was that she could verify Beej finally had some body fat, though she’d rather not have seen it so early in the morning. 

“It’s 6:30 and my shift starts in a half hour,” she managed to make eye contact with him. 

He glared, “Okay. Why are you here at 6:30 in the morning.” It was not a question anymore, not really. 

“Take your coffee and get dressed, you’re coming with me to the swimming pool,” she held a ridiculously oversweetented black coffee out in front of her. 

“Why,” He took the coffee but the word was absolutely not a question now, it was definitely a threat delivered in a very low growl. She fixed her eyes on him like he was a bug she was about to murder.

“Because last night at exactly 1:43am you said ‘Just one more round Lyds, it’ll be fine Lyds, you can still make it to work tomorrow, I could do it easy.’ So here you are, proving you're not a liar, coming to work with me because I’m hungover as fuck and it I have to work hungover then you do too, Dickbreath.” She sipped her unsweetened cappuccino and leveled her best glare back at him from over her heart sunglasses. It seemed like it must have worked, because the man swallowed deeply and backed up a half-step. 

“Uh, fuck. Okay, give me five minutes,” he tried to close the door in her face but she wedged a foot in before he could. 

“I’ll wait in the kitchen for you, the better to ensure you don’t go back to bed like a lying traitor."

“Ugh, fuck. Fine. Fucking psychic or some shit...” 

+++

"Hey: no running!" BJ barked the words at the preteen scampering past the lifeguard stand.

"Pretty sure he was just trying to get past you fast," Lydia murmured. He glared up at her for a moment, immediately regretting the decision as the sun was behind her from his position.

"They're gonna take away your goth card, kid. Who fuckin heard of a goth lifeguard?" He grouched, rubbing his eyes futilely. 

"You know they make SPF 75 now?" She said casually, drinking the last of her water.

"That what you use to stay so reflective?"

"I mean the umbrella and hat help," she gestured upward. In addition to the standard issue red umbrella and red swimsuit, Lydia was wearing a bright red sun hat with a brim that kept even her shoulders in shadow. She'd stolen it from Delia's closet once she got the job, and found a matching bright red patterned sarong to keep her legs covered. Short of actually having to dive in and save some poor idiot, the girl was literally made in the shade. "Beej, would you get us more water?"

"Us?" He snorted, not moving. 

"Come on, we should both stay hydrated. It's hot, we're hungover, and hell you're so old it'd be elder abuse if I let you get hurt," she smiled down at him innocently. 

He snatched up her canteen and then picked up his sunglasses and jammed them on his face, storming over to the concession stand. He realized he was wearing her heart sunglasses only halfway there, but was too frustrated to turn around. Grumbling the whole time, he filled the canteen in the shacks sink, then drained it dry. He had to admit he felt better even as he refilled it and walked back over.

"How much longer?" He held the canteen up for her to grab. She was watching two boys roughhousing in the shallows, so he tapped her arm. She took the bottle, never looking down.

"Thanks… Uh, we're here til 11am. I'll take you to breakfast after?"

"Jesus fuckin Christ, thank every dark fucking god and monster," he muttered. A small child scampered away with wide eyes. "What did I say about running?" he bellowed after the kid.

+++

"I would sell my soul for these pancakes," he was speaking around a mouthful of the aforementioned pancakes.

"I know, right?" Lydia stabbed a forkful of hashbrowns into her over easy egg yolk.

"Why are they so good?"

"They're sourdough."

"So," BJ managed to pause inhaling his food. "How's living with the folks going?"

"It's been three weeks but it genuinely feels like an eternity," Lydia poked her eggs around, momentarily unappetized. "Working at the pool has actually been nice, keeps me out of the house during the morning. Then I just don't come home until after my evening shift at the cafe."

"What do you do all afternoon between jobs?"

"Library, mostly. Went to the movies once, but that would get expensive fast."

"That where you're headed after this?"

"Nah," Lydia hung her head in her hands tiredly. "Was gonna try to go get some sleep, though it's doubtful my mother will let me 'laze away the day.'"

"Come sleep on my sofa," he said, draining his coffee.

She looked up, considering her options. The thought of uninterrupted sleep was tempting, but she shuddered to think of herself in the same category as "women who'd been unconscious in BJ's house." After a moment she reminded herself of last weeks resolution: whoever he had been was the past, she was his friend now. Whatever he was now, she trusted him. But she couldn't resist a parting barb.

"I dunnow, how clean is your sofa?"

"Lyds," he rolled his eyes at her. "I can give you a sheet if you're gonna be prissy about it."

"Not the sheets from this morning."

"Well then I can't give you a sheet, you're shit outta luck." He finished his coffee, then hers.

"Fuck it, alright," she slapped a twenty on the table then stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, sourdough pancakes are THE BEST EVER. Secondly, there is shitty art to go with this chapter (how am I more nervous posting art than smut?!?!)
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/QzFzOrv
> 
> Lastly, and always: crits/comments/corrections are so appreciated and keep me writing. Also, there's an standing invitation for any and all fan work (art, playlists, moodboards, related fics) that anyone wants to create, send me a messgae and I will link your work in on my authors notes!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More summer shenanigans, and a little bit of a heart-to-heart.

"Are you still visiting that madman now that he's out of the hospital?" Delia smiled over her coffee at Lydia, who wondered if her mother had woken up early just to catch her before work and have this charming conversation. 

"BJ isn't crazy, mother, he just has some lingering memory and dexterity issues," Lydia gave her best saccharine sweet smile over her shredded wheat. "You know, because of the 12 year coma."

"Is that why he eternally looks like he's just been electrocuted as well?" Delia's pretence of politeness was wearing thin.

"No, I'm fairly sure that's a fashion choice." Lydia rose, walking into the kitchen to rinse the last of her now unappetizing meal down the garbage disposal. Frustratingly, Delia followed her.

"Isn't he a bit old to be a casual acquaintance, dear?"

"Well, mother, he's 37 but the last birthday he would remember if he could remember anything would be his 25th, which is only a few years older than me, so no: I don't think he's too old to be my friend, and further I feel like even if that wasn't the case it's really none of your business who I'm friends with, thank you Delia." Lydia dropped her bowl in the sink with a thunk, in a quiet rage at this point.

"I mean, you think he's 37. Aren't the doctors not sure of that without a birth certificate?" Delia sipped her coffee.

"I want you to know," Lydia paused, trying to decide if she wanted to say this only because of her anger in the moment and if that was justified. She decided she didn't care, "I'll be moving out this summer. I've found an apartment and won't be staying in the dorms next year. I've already packed up my things, so I'll be out of your hair in a few weeks."

Delia's coffee cup shattered on the tile floor, which Lydia thought was exactly the kind of ridiculous overreaction she really ought to have anticipated but somehow wasn't prepared for. Then the yelling started.

+++

She woke up staring down a greenish stain just past the puddle of drool she had peeled her face out of moments before.

"Wha..?" She blinked a few times and licked her lips to try consciousness again.

"Where's your eloquence now, huh kid?" Her host was sitting on the floor of the livingroom, somewhere past the green stain, and an odor of coffee wafted from his direction. 

Lydia tried blinking again until she could see him clearly, sitting cross-legged between her and the old black and white TV set, offering what looked like a stolen mug from Denny's. She got her right elbow underneath herself and grabbed the cup sloppily with her left hand. Coffee sloshed onto BJ's hands, and he hissed and shook them even as she was gulping down the drink.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," he growled and leaned back.

"Thank you," she managed after downing the first half of the cup. She swung herself into a seated position on the old couch, blinking and looking around the room aimlessly in the too-bright morning light. "What time did we go to sleep?"

"Not long after midnight," Beej scratched at his wild hair and closed his eyes like the light was too bright for him as well. "I made ya chug a bottle of water when you woke up at 2am and ran into a wall trying to find my bathroom, so ya shouldn't be too hungover. But you might have a nasty bruise on yer knee."

"I hate schnapps so much," she said, sipping her coffee.

"Then buy your own booze, ya leech."

Lydia blinked a few more times, realizing now that he'd delivered her coffee Beej seemed less awake than she. He was still seated on the floor, leaning back on arms with elbows locked, face turned to the bright warmth of the window with eyes closed. He was wearing swim trunks, for some reason, sans shirt and she used the chance to eyeball his form trying to assess his physical recovery. His chest looked less hollow than it had even a month ago, arms unshaking despite the weight he had on them, and his stomach showed a healthy little layer of fat. He had a little gut, she thought, and that was such a change from when they met. After a moment, however, she noticed the many and varied scars also displayed: a few that looked like burns, a hairless patch of what might have been scars from road-rash on his knee and thigh, and what looked like a stab wound?

"Ya checkin out the goods, babe?" His eyes hadn't even opened. 

"You no longer look like Skeletor, it's good. Is that a stab wound?"

"Finish your coffee and put on your swimsuit, ya got work in twenty minutes." He stood, shuffling to the kitchen to fix and drink a cup of coffee over the sink. 

Lydia gulped the last of her mug down while digging through her purse, then bolted to the bathroom to wash off last nights makeup and change into her swimsuit. She'd left the hat and sarong at her parents house, only remembering to snag the suit just in case she never made it home that night. She'd meant to just get one drink, to prove to herself that she really was a financially independent adult woman who was not going to be controlled by her parents. 

Lydia paused, staring in the mirror in BJ's bathroom wondering when last night had gone off plan in such a nice way.

+++

"Holy shit Lyds, is that you?" Beej had sounded like he was somewhere loud. She was staring in the mirror, in the ladies restroom where the sound of the DJ was mostly muffled.

"Beej, are you off tonight?"

"Yeah, Lyds, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she half yelled. "I'm at Strega. You want to come out?" 

"Shit, yeah, I'm like two blocks away!" He muttered something, and while she checked her teeth in the mirror and half heard his conversation. "No, yeah, I know hun… I gotta go… Don't be like that… Yeah, fuck you too." His voice got louder and clear again, "See you in five."

She had to check her phone to confirm her hung up, then fixed her black lipstick one more time and left the room. Outside the door were two women waiting impatiently, all smudged mascara and wine coolers. Lydia dodged past them to the bar and ordered a plain cranberry juice, trying to pin her thoughts down. She hadn't intended to call Beej, it was just that she had been washing her hands and saw some clever jerk had put a sticker of a cockroach next to the mirror. She'd laughed and her phone was out, and his was almost the only number in there that would get her a person not already asleep. 

"Cranberry," the bartender dropped the glass in front of her with a smile. She paid, and barely had time to notice the two cherries on a skewer balanced above her ice before she heard a voice in her ear.

"Mine!" Beej leaned over her shoulder and snagged the fruit, eating her garnish then picking his teeth casually with the bamboo stick. She raised an eyebrow and he shrugged, "What? You hate sweet shit, don't lie."

The bartender glowered and disappeared while BJ squashed himself next to her at the bar, leaning back against the railing to survey the dancefloor behind them.

"I think the bartender was trying to flirt," she smiled.

"I mean, I do love cherries, I'd let him." 

"With me, you ass," she elbowed him and sipped her juice.

"Oh, well then sorry: I deprived you of the opportunity to either shoot him down for not knowing you only like sour shit, or prevented you from having to eat tooth rotting crap in an attempt to get laid. With a guy, I remind you, whom you had to pay. Pay cash money. Hows that look, Lyds? You're welcome," he barely paused. "Shit it's busy out here tonight."

"It's friday," she was halfway through her cranberry. 

"Yeeeeah," he turned as though he'd had an epiphany, and she realized he'd chopped off his hair and bleached what was left blinding white. "Yeah, you work tomorrow and it's past 10pm, shouldn't you be asleep little Missy?"

"I told my mom I'm moving out this fall," she gulped the last of her glass.

"HEY," he barked over her head at the bartender, then pointed at her. "Two shots of your house whiskey and two Buds, pronto."

"Aw, you care."

"What, I'm sorry, did you want a drink too?"

"And he's funny," she smiled, and he smiled back. "But looks aren't everything."

He laughed.

Two rounds later when the bartender served Beej's drink with a lemon then smiled at Lydia, she fished the fruit out of his drink, bit into it, and wasn't sure why.

+++

"What's with the," she gestured at her head. "The Billy Idol?"

"What, you don't think I look good blonde?" He was still standing over the sink drinking coffee, only he'd found a hideous Hawaiian shirt and flip flops somewhere and was now more or less dressed. 

"You're way past blonde," she was stuffing her clothing into her purse with one hand, pulling her sunglasses on with the other, keys hanging off one finger. She tried walking forward, ran into the wall, and stopped in place.

"I'll drive," BJ said, lifting her keys off her finger and walking out the door. "Come ON, doll face, we're gonna be LATE."

She followed after him, heart sunglasses askew, and wondered when it became "we" that would be late rather than just her.

+++

"So you wanna talk about it or what?"

They were sitting in the shade of a tree behind the pool, next to some memorial statue of some dead guys, eating gratis creamsicles which Lydia let Beej think he'd stealthily pilfered from the ice box in the back of the snack shop.

"It's not a big deal," she flicked a fly away with one hand. "Delia didn't even actually want me to stay in the dorms or anything, she just didn't want to be surprised with a decision I'd made without her consultation." 

"Hey," he paused as if to consider then plowed forward, "Why do you sometimes call her Delia and other times jus' 'Mother'?"

"She's my stepmom," Lydia looked over at him, he seemed absorbed in making sure his ice cream didn't drip. "My real mother died when I was a kid, and Dad remarried. At some point I started calling her 'Mom' just to piss her off, but it stuck. I guess it's a little unfair to her, I use her name when she's pissed me off as a way to remind her that she's not my real family."

Beej made a noncommittal noise like it didn't matter if it was unfair. 

"Can I ask a question?" She wolfed down the last of her ice cream while looking up at the statue.

"Shoot."

"Do you remember more than you told the doctors?" She threw her popsicle stick at the statue's face, then wondered why she'd done it as it bounced off. She did NOT look over at BJ. It was silent for a long time before she said, "I don't want to know, it's fine. It's none of my busin-"

"Yeah," he threw the last of his ice cream at the statue casually. Orange slush stuck to its nose.

"Oh. I mean, that's good."

"Not really, wish I didn't remember shit. Well, I mean, remembering how to drive has been good."

She leaned back against her portion of the tree. After a few minutes she elbowed him gently in the ribs, "Hey Beej, you gonna stay 'Beetlejuice?'"

"Fuck yeah."

"Good,” After a minute she cleared her throat. “Another question.”   
He nodded. 

“Did you actually cut your hair or did you fry it with bleach so hard it broke off?” She pointed up at his shock of uneven blonde hair. 

“Yes,” he glared, then stood and helped her up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I hate schnapps. Also if place names in this story sound familiar, hey, you may live near me: I'm blatantly using the pool, bars, and university of my college years as layout.
> 
> Crits/comments/corrections keep me alive and well fed! Chapters are going up daily(until I run out of chapters).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the senior Deetz's pester Lydia for information but everyone escapes unscathed.

“Hey Beej! What’s up?” She leaned back in her seat, hiding in the shade of her car now that her shift was over. It had been her last day at the pool and she was moving into her new apartment next week, so she’d called BJ hoping he was free to celebrate with her. 

“You’re the one calling me, babes: did you need something?” His voice sounded lower than normal. She caught him muttering something to someone else, something about needing a fucking minute and would they chill the fuck out.  
“Just seeing if you were free tonight: last day of my second job, moving soon, wanted to see if I could con you into buying me a beer.”

“Yeah, I’m free tonight -” There was hooting and laughter behind him, cut off with his snarled expletives. “Sorry, uh. Busy now. I’ll drop by your place when I’m free?” 

“Yeah. Uh, parents place.”  
“Yeah,” and then he’d hung up. 

She hadn't thought much of it at the time, putting her phone away and sitting in the car silently for a moment. She knew she didn't want to go back to her parents house just yet. He'd said he'd come by tonight, which was actually a pretty big and maybe inconsiderate time range, but it was still morning so she had a few good hours to waste until then.

She settled on the thrift store as a perfect time-killer for bit and started the car. She'd have to hang around her parents house for the evening, but she at least had some final packing and cleaning to do there so she wouldn't be subjected to more than a little Delia, she hoped. 

+++

"Wasn't your little project supposed to drop by?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Lydia looked up from her drawings with a blink, genuinely confused.

"Your amnesiac," Delia clarified, leaning against the doorway to Lydia's almost-former-room. Trapping her in, Lydia thought. 

"His name is BJ, still. And yes, he said he'd be by later." She resumed sketching out various thumbnail compositions, trying not to rise to Delia's bait. Lydia's things were packed into several boxes by the very doorway the other woman was lingering in. The room was stripped almost bare, even the four-poster bed looked naked without a canopy to cover it. Lydia had gone so far as to pack her sheets, and had a sleeping bad unrolled on the mattress for use in the next few days. When she finally moved, they could simply load the mattress, then dresser, then boxes and be gone.

"I hate to pry," Delia began, and Lydia had to suppress the urge to tell her stepmother that was a very bold lie, "But you're not moving in with him, are you?"

"Oh my god, Mother! No! I told you that Pru and I were going to be sharing a place!" Delia felt her eyebrows contorting in a mix of rage, disgust, and sheer disbelief. "How do you come up with- I mean- Jesus!"

"Oh don't be so offended, I know you don't tell me everything. I don't expect you to. I just wanted to know if you were seeing so much of him this summer because-" Delia shifted uncomfortably against the doorjamb.

Lydia paused, staring at her drawings. It was true that Delia and herself weren't close, and she'd apparently shocked the woman with her announcement that she'd be moving out. It wasn't a surprise that Delia felt out of the loop on this, probably on so many other things. Lydia felt a little roil of guilt wash over her.

"I know we're not that close, Mom, and I know sometimes I'm weird and. And it probably surprises you, some of the things I do. And I can be sort of, I don't know, secretive I guess? But I will tell you, if something is important," she breathed out deeply and looked up at her stepmother. "I'm absolutely not running to you with every crush I have, but I'll tell you if I ever meet someone who actually matters, promise."

"You don't-" Delia did a good job trying not to look touched, having to clear her throat before trying again. "You don't need to tell me anything, you're an adult with your own apartment and jobs and friends. But I will always be here if you do want to talk."

Lydia scooted over on the bed and closed her book, trying to subtly invite the older woman in, "Uhm, I did want to ask what your advice was on shared spaces with a roommate? Like should we write our names on our milk or..?"

"Oh darling, I don't even know…" Delai did sit on the bed, speaking in a more upbeat tone. "No offense dear, but are either you or Pru really the cooking type? You might want to write the date opened on the milk, I'm more concerned one of you will eat spoiled food than that you'll argue over it."

Lydia rolled her eyes, but was at least grateful that her step mother's snide assessment was about her habits and not her friends mental health.

+++

"So is he ugly or what?" Her father addressed her without looking up from his paper.

"Jesus fuckin Christ, I just cannot escape the inquisition today, can I?" Lydia rolled her eyes and draped herself dramatically over the back of the sofa.

"Is your charming language from him too? You only have a few days left here, Lydia, could you try to spend them swearing a little less?" Her father didn't sound like he actually cared very much at all, eyes still in the business section. That lack of anger alone actually made her feel a bit bad about her words.

"Yes, Dad. Sorry," she climbed over the sofa to sit cross legged in a puff of black tulle skirts and striped blazer. "He's not that ugly, he's just a friend, who is male, whom I saw a lot of this summer because Pru was on study abroad and the Maitlands went on vacation. Delia gave me the third degree already." She paused and picked her nails for a moment. "Honestly Daddy, I'm fairly certain you'd hate him: he is pretty foul mouthed and rude. But Beej isn't a big enough part of my life for you to actually waste time on worry, I'm moving then classes start, and he's working full time and has some side job. He's going to make other friends and not need me, and I'm going to be too busy with school to see him."

Charles looked up from his paper and smiled, "If you say so dear, then I'll forget it. You're a good kid, Lydia, even if you are a little Weirdo." She smiled back at the pet name.

"Dear, there's a yellow abomination in the drive…" Delia's voice called out from the hall.

"That'll probably be Beej! I'll call you guys if we're going to be out late," Lydia jumped up and snatched her purse off the coat rack. "Love you Dad!" and she was out the door.

Charles stood, carefully folding his paper, then walked up the stairs to stand by Delia in the hall window. They watched Lydia greeting the man, then throw her purse at him. The two were laughing soundlessly through the glass, and after a minute she was getting into the passenger side of the car and he was shoving her purse onto her lap. The engine revved, but the two pulled out at a relatively sedate pace, at least until they hit the asphalt of the road when the car burned rubber.

"Well at least she's not moving in with him yet." Delia sighed.

"She lied to me," Charles mused.

"Hm?" Delia looked at him.

"She said he wasn't that ugly. She's obviously infatuated, because he's hideous."

"Hideous to you or a 22 year old girl?"

"Hideous to ghost and monsters. I mean, you saw him, right?" Charles turned to his wife with mild disbelief. 

"Hm," she patted his cheek and walked away.

+++

"I like the coat, by the way," they were at a red light, and he leered over at her from behind her own heart shaped sunglasses. She'd stolen his sunglasses when she got in the car, and he'd been forced to "borrow" hers when they turned west into the setting sun.

"Ew, gross, perv," she said in an almost bored tone. "It's for you, actually, I found it today at the thrift store!"

"Aw, you were thinkin' of me?"

"It smells like mothballs and my perfume, so you're going to smell like a girl. I hope you suffer." She kicked off her shoes and stuck her feet out the window as he peeled out of the intersection. 

"Well shit, that might prevent me from picking up chicks in it."

"You couldn't pick up a chick in this car anyway."

"Right, you're only sitting there with your legs out my window because you're just that easy."

"Jackass!" She turned around and flicked his cigarette out of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, remember being young and in love and one of you would plan something dumb and the other person wouldn't question it even though it was dumb? I had so many days where I had these vague ephemeral plans that I just sat around and waited for when I should have texted the other party back like "Give me a time or fuck off."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Betelgeuse discovers some things out about himself and about Lydia, without any significant personal growth at all.

The problem with selling drugs was the druggies, he mused on this from behind his ridiculously scratched sunglasses. Also the fact that he was highly identifiable and Lydia would fucking kill him if she found out.

Not that she was gonna stop him, to be clear: he definitely did NOT need her approval or respect or goodwill or any of that shit. They weren't fucking, they weren't related, so he could do whatever the hell he wanted, including be a drug dealer.

Except, okay, maybe he was just going to sell weed. Okay, I mean, that still made money, grass was cash. He was just too fuckin old to sell anything harder and that was definitely the only reason he was just selling pot. And some adderall, because college kids are fuckin RIDICULOUS, who even buys that shit? They could just study if they wanted the grades, Lyds just studied and got damn near straight A's. Course she was super smart, she'd probably get grades above A's if they had em.

He grimaced and reminded himself to think about the job: how to sell the kilo of weed in his trunk without having to deal with some fuckin crackhead. He was parked in the general university area, where the shittyiest apartments backed up against the freeway. There were no underpasses or on-ramps for five blocks in either direction, and while the car noise was constant the neighborhood was quiet.

Which is why he saw the two kids approaching before they saw him. Too relaxed to be incoming freshmen, but too fucking uptight not to be students. Backpacks like wrecking balls, jeans from the mall, no pocket protectors but no sketchbooks either. Undeclared majors. 

He reached into the car and lit up the half-dead joint, letting it burn long enough to stink up the air before the undergrads got too near. He made a good show of stomping the roach out when the kids arrived, before relaxing. 

"Oh shit, you guys fucking scared me. Thought you were beat cops for a second, nearly gave myself a heart attack," he leaned back against his car and tried to look approachable. "What, you two headed to a party or some shit?"

Through some miracle he managed to convince the kids to stop and talk. After a bit they were talking and passing around a joint, then laughing about something, then they were walking off the unknowing first customers of his new life of crime. 

He sat in the car for a moment, thinking that had been way too easy for it to have been the first time he'd done this. He chose not to think too hard about this all, thinking instead of the fact that he might be able to surprise Lydia on campus. Maybe they could get lunch, he could buy for once. He drove over

with a wicked self-satisfied smile ghosting his features the whole way.

+++

"Oh I missed you both so much! Do you have photos from your trip?" They'd gone through the hugging and how-are-yous and were just sitting down for coffee.

"Oh goodness yes, so many! Thank you for loaning us that Polaroid camera, it was so nice to see the photos right after we took them. Adam, would you get the camera bag?"

"Sure, it's in your bag?" Adam had been cutting some apples to go with their coffee, and set the plate down before wandering off to the bedroom. 

"Still haven't unpacked?" Lydia snagged an apple slice.

"Nope, too lazy," Barb replied, sipping her coffee.

"She's secretly hoping I'll do it for her," Adam placed the bag between the two women then planted a kiss on the top of his wife's head. "Which I won't."

Barbra shrugged as she pulled out a stack of color polaroid photos. She held them for a moment, "Trade you?"

Lydia dug her journal from her purse and handed it over, her newest printed photos already slipping out from between the pages, in exchange for the glossy vacation pictures. Barbra smiled excitedly, flipping through photos and sketches.

"Oh, I love this one," she paused on a photo of a stray kitten. 

"That one has a happy ending, Pru adopted that little boy as our new cat. Did I tell you Pru and I are renting a place together this year?" Lydia paused at a photo of the Maitlands next to what a sign proclaimed was the "World's biggest ball of twine."

"You mentioned it! New apartment, new semester, new kitten. Sounds like this'll be a good last year for you," Adam had come back from his puttering in the kitchen to fawn over the photos of their new cat. "We're really proud of you Lydia."

"Be proud when I graduate next spring," she laughed.

"We will be," Adam sat, thumbing through the photos. "But we're proud of you now for doing the things that make you happy now."

Lydia blinked, not expecting that response. She had to hold still, just thinking, trying to decide if she was going to cry. She managed not to, just barely. 

Barbara passed her a tissue silently, and kept flipping through the images, "You've got a lot of good studies of BJ in here."

"Oh god, don't you start!" Lydia laughed, dissolving her tears.

+++

The best thing about living off campus, Lydia decided, was not having to see people if she didn't want to. It had been a long day, she'd had to run around campus desperately trying to get added to her last few classes. Pru was staying on campus late all this week to get her TA training completed before she'd need to have actual study-hours for students, the kitten was staying at Pru's parents since he'd just been neutered and needed someone home to keep an eye on him all day for a few days, Charles and Delia were on some impromptu vacation and business trip to Chicago, and Lydia was all alone. Very wonderfully alone.

She certainly wasn't sad and feeling the post-excitement comedown after starting a new semester. She was not living out of boxes simply because she didn't want to unpack. She had most certainly showered recently. She wasn't sitting on the floor of the living room wrapped in a cheap polyester comforter because they didn't have a sofa, watching a muted TV while drinking sour white wine. It most certainly wasn't day three of this and it was just a mood, not an episode. 

"Hey, pst, Kid," the voice was quiet. "Lemme in."

"Go away, Beej, I'm wallowing."

"I know, you literally just said that when I knocked on the door a minute ago," his voice was still rather low, almost a whisper. She could understand that, the neighbors might find this weird.

"Why are you here, Beej." She glanced at her porch out of the corner of her eye. He was seated on the cold concrete just behind the sliding glass door. His hair was mussed and his clothing rumpled from the climb over her patio fence.

"My TVs broke, so I came to watch infomercials with you."

"Did Pru tell you to come over?"

"Babes, you know I love uh," he squinted at the screen through the hazy glass to see what was being advertised. "Phone sex? What the fuck are you watching Lyds…"

She rolled her eyes but stood, shedding her comforter, and unlatched the door. She flopped back onto her blanket pile, making him let himself in. He did, sliding the door shut and latching it behind him. He slid down the wall next to her with a groan, then roughly tugged at her blankets until he was also wrapped up. They watched a ten minute ad for a pasta maker in silence.

"You're not gonna ask me what's wrong?" She finally said.

He was finishing her white wine, straight out of the bottle, and shrugged. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I'm just sad. I don't know why. I think sometimes I'm broken," her voice was detached. 

He was quiet. After a minute he reached over her head and flicked the lights off, leaving them in the glow of the TV screen. He shifted, taking off his stripped coat that she swore he wore every day, then toeing off his boots.

"Your feet stink," she complained.

"Don't even pretend you showered today, brat," he shoved her shoulder gently her cocooned form was leaning against him. "Your hair is like an oil slick."

"I'm allowed to be a wreck, I'm an art student." She closed her eyes.

"Yeah, and I'm selling used cars now so we both have permission to be trash humans."

"I bet you're really good at selling cars," she was murmuring sleepily. "I bet you're really good at selling everything."

+++ 

She woke up later and clicked off the TV. Pru's shoes were sitting next to the door, so her roommate must have come home but not woken them. She was thoroughly wrapped up, but Beej was on the edge of the blankets and shivering. He was drooling into the carpet, pink fingers curled into his chest.

"Com'ere," she muttered, pulled her extra blankets over him, then wrapped her hands around his.

She lay there in the dark, not quite able to fall asleep, watching the light on the ceiling gradually change and listening to her friends teeth slowly stop chattering. She fell back asleep sometime just before dawn.

+++

"Thanks for checking in on her last night," Pru was speaking quietly, washing dishes while Beej dried them. He wasn't sure how Pru had gotten him to agree to help, something about her promising breakfast? But then again he wasn't sure how Pru had gotten his number to text him last night either. He was learning to accept that she just got shit done.

"No problem. Ah, does this..?" He finished drying the last plate while Pru started pulling eggs and sausage out of the fridge.

"Does this happen often? Yes and no. I'm surprised you didn't know about this already, you two are so close I just assumed you knew," Pru was cracking and scrambling eggs

"We're not that close, really. She just needed someone to vent to this summer, and she helped me so I gotta help her, it's not-" He cut himself off, pausing. He smiled his best disarming grin at the girl, "What I meant to say is she never told me, ya know? What can you tell me, what's the deal, how can I help?"

Pru finished whisking the eggs and shrugged, "She just has bad days. Sometimes they last weeks. Just check in on her, text her occasionally."

"Yeah, we don't do the text thing," he wiggled his fingers. "Not so great with the fine motor bullshit."

"Practice then."

He shrugged, knowing that he would. Pru served the eggs onto three plates and dropped the sausages into the pan.

"Do I smell food?" Lydia was dragging her blanket across the floor. 

"Yeah," Beej snagged a plate and presented it with a flourish. "You sleep at all?" She nodded, poking the eggs around for a moment, so he continued. "I couldn't'a fuckin guessed, did you know you snore? Like a bear, I swear to god. I looked up and thought we were watching an infomercial for the World's Loudest Chainsaw! And the drool, oh my god Lyds, you owe me for the dry cleaning bill on my coat."

"I bought you that coat," she nibbled at her eggs.

"Well then it's doubly your responsibility, ain't it? You know, it's fine, you all got a washer here so I'll just bring by my laundry and you can do it, we'll call it even."

"What, and have to burn the washing machine after? I think not, Dickbreath."

"Do I get a say in this?" Pru dropped the plate of sausages on the table and sat eating her eggs. "You're already bringing this walking biohazard into our house-"

"Stop, you're making me blush."

"And now we're talking about burning down appliances? This roommates thing may not work out, I can feel it," Pru stabbed at BJ's hand when he tried to pick up a sausage. "Use a fork, heathen!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope I'm doing justice to the experience of having a sudden depressive episode (lite). Projecting, me? Never. This will be a recurring theme, so if it's not in the tags I'll be adding that now.
> 
> Crits/comments/corrections keep me functioning! Ha, that's painfully close to home on this chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a fight and a tense non-apology to maintain the status quo.

"Want a Thin Mint?"

"Did a Girl Scout actually venture into this neighborhood?" Lydia made grabbing motions in the air until a whole box of cookies was thrown at her. She was half upside-down on the sofa, hair dripping down to the floor in the dim glow of the television. 

"Yeah, but I don't think she's coming back," Beej laughed, then sat next to her, much more upright.

Lydia paused chewing her cookie. She wriggled, trying to stand, managing to kick BJ in the stomach before falling off the sofa. She was up and stalking into the kitchen before he regained his breath.

"What the fuck, Lyds-" he started, but was cut off. She'd flipped open his kitchen cabinet. 

"Did you ROB a fucking GIRL SCOUT?!?!" The cupboard entirely filled with boxes of cookies was pretty damning.

"Less robbed and more 'they fell off a little red wagon.'" He chewed a Samoa with no shred of guilt.

Lydia barked out a laugh, then clapped her hands over her mouth, "This isn't funny."

"No, it's delicious."

"Beej! You can't steal from kids!" She walked back to the sofa to stand over him in a daze.

"I mean, apparently I can: you saw my pantry," he was gesturing with one of her Thin Mints, which she snatched back from him and stuffed in her mouth. 

"Don eaf mah tin mins," she muttered. 

He shrugged and went back to his Samoa's, turning to watch the silent TV. After a few moments of chewing he eyeballed her then spoke gruffly, "So I can't rob em, but you'll still eat the ill gotten goods, huh?"

For just a minute she wasn't mad, and she realized they were about to have a serious fight, and she really didn't want to. Then the thought of a scared kid running out of the neighborhood washed over her and she realized she was shouting. Then he was yelling, then she was doing something with her arms, gesturing wildly. A cookie ended up thrown at the TV at some point, she was literally pulling her hair, and after what seemed like just a few minutes she heard it-

"Sorry I'm such a fuckin disappointment, Princess!"

She couldn't say why that was the thing that set her off, but it was. She felt her eyes well up with tears, all the words she had just melted out of her mouth like tar, and she fled.

+++

"Do you want to talk about it?" Pru was sitting on the floor, opening her second beer. Lydia was facedown in her bed now having just finished beer three.

"No. Put on Joy Division," her voice was muffled. Pru set down her beer, switched out the CD in Lydia's stereo, and sat back down. Lydia was propped up against the headboard halfway through Pru's second beer.

Pru opened the third beer, and surreptitiously sent a text when Lydia had an arm draped dramatically over her eyes.

"IDK WTF u did but Lyds is home safe n drunk. Call tmrw and apologize."

She sent the message and muted her phone.

"Do you want ice cream?" Pru asked as they both finished the beer.

"Can we pour butterscotch schnapps into the container?" 

"Oh my god that's disgusting, absolutely." Pru helped her friend out of bed.

+++

He was paying for Trixie's drink when the text came through from the contact he had listed as "The Prude."

Trixie saw the text, and did not find it entertaining, and while he managed to keep her drink on the bar and thus prevent its contents from being thrown in his face, he did have his foot stamped on.

Which is how he'd ended up drinking something called a Cosmopolitan which was simultaneously too fruity and not fruity enough for his tastes. He glared at the empty glass as Trixie left the bar with some guy who was not him.

"What the hell are you drinkin?" The man next to him asked. 

"Well that," Beej pointed to the glass like it was a viper, "Was something metropolitan or some shit, and I'm never ever drinking it again."

"Two whiskeys!" His new friend called out to the bartender. BJ spent a moment looking the man over: he was wearing some kind of biker leathers, but new and crisp looking. A couple of guys at the other end of the bar were dressed similarly, and between the three of them that explained the motorcycles out front. “I’m Jake.”

"I’m BJ. What are you fellas up to tonight, Jake?"

"Just some business," the tall man smiled, two gold teeth glinting far back in his jaw. The bartender set down two glasses, and he slid one to BJ.

"Funny story, I happen to be a businessman," BJ smiled back and drank his free booze.

+++

“You sure you can sell all this?” The biggest man closed the trunk on BJ’s car with a thunk.

“I was already selling all that sht for Llyod, wasn’t I?” Beej blew smoke with an eye roll. “It’s not fuckin hard.”

“Glad to hear you see it that way. It was good to meet you tonight, BJ. You know how to reach me if you need to?”

"Yeah,” He scoffed, flicking his half smoked cigarette into the gutter. “I’m a fucking professional here, Jake.” 

+++

She woke up far less hungover than she had expected considering how awful she’d felt after the last time she’d drank schnapps. She looked out over her bedroom carpet, noting the absence of beer bottles. Pru must have cleaned up, like the complete angel she was, after they finished the gross butterscotch ice cream monstrosity that Lydia had invented. She managed to drag herself out of bed, sat on the bedroom floor for a few minutes rubbing her eyes, then sat on the floor in the shower for a bit just letting the hot water run over her. 

By the time she’d made it to the kitchen, Pru was finishing breakfast. The coffee in the pot was still warm. 

“Your boyfriend is sitting outside in his car. I think he’s working up the courage to come to the door.” Pru poured herself a cup of coffee then went back to her room, shutting her door just a little more loudly then she normally would have.   
Lydia made and drank a cup of coffee at the table. Oce she felt a little more awake and human she pulled her hoodie on over her pajamas, locked the house behind her, and headed out to find Beej. She thought he must have been up all night because he looked rumpled and jumped when she got into the passenger's seat. 

They were both silent for a long moment. 

“Drive,” she muttered, then clawed his sunglasses off the dashboard and put them on. He turned over the car and headed to the freeway. 

They didn’t talk at all as they drove. He took the freeway south for miles, until they 

were well outside of town. He stopped at a fruit stand, got out, and bought them orange creamsicles. She got out and wandered around the shop while he paid, finding and petting a little calico cat sleeping under some empty crates. 

He handed over the popsicle and sat on a grassy hill past the cat. Lydia came and sat beside him in the shade. 

“You’re not a disappointment to me.” 

He sighed and was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I am. Ya don’t have to lie about that. If you stick around I’m just gonna keep disappointing you.” 

“Maybe,” she ate her ice cream and thought about it for some time. Once they were done with their ice cream, she went back to the car while he bought a bag of peaches. The drive back to the city was silent as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skip this if you don't want my opinion on relationship BS -
> 
> Not everyone had the same morals and priorities, and just because you think your partner shares yours does not mean they do (or should). Spoiler alert: Lydia is going to discover that BJ doesn't even WANT to change his morals (and he shouldn't have to damnit!). I feel like the assumption that morals and values are consistent is the most FRUSTRATING and common failing in relationships. I could write a lot on this, I swear, but I'll shut up for now.
> 
> Comments/crits/corrections keep me writing!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning- some non explicit discussion of September 11th. Skip if that's upsetting, it won't impact the story too much if you miss this.

It was too easy to forget all the drama she felt was lurking in the corners of her life, and just pretend this was a normal semester. Lydia kept working at the cafe after classes, and picked up the occasional weekend shift. She started hanging out in the photo lab, using the darkroom whenever it wasn't reserved which it often wasn't since everyone was enamored with their new digital printer. By week two everyone on campus knew that for a coffee and a smile Lydia would help you develop your negatives.

Beej had started texting her just about every day, which used up her precious phone minutes but was absolutely worth it. He'd taken to text shorthand in a way that was almost nauseating, she'd actually had to learn all kinds of new shorthand thanks to his utter lack of grammar or punctuation. He said she texted like an old lady, which she resented only slightly since it was relatively true.

The kitten, now named Vince, was back home and had attached to Pru like a baby monkey: he'd follow the woman around the house all day, meowing at a shockingly loud volume if he felt she'd forgotten him. His attachment issues extended to eating, so both bedrooms now had food and water in them so that Vince wouldn't have to eat alone. Lydia was a little sad that the kitten didn't love her quite as much as he did Pru, but she was happy enough that he'd climb her bedding to sleep on her pillow when Pru was out late. 

Lydia kept her nose in books, working on her portfolio and grades, trying not to think about her future just yet. If anyone asked, which no one had yet, she wouldn't have thought to mentioned BJ as one reason for her malcontent. 

+++

It was early September, and since she didn't have classes until 10am on Tuesdays, she slept in late. Pru had some lab thing and Lydia had almost no friends, so when she heard the knocking on the door she assumed it wasn't actually a visitor for her. The knocking wasn't that loud, whomever it was only tried twice, and so she rolled over and went back to sleep.

"Lydia," he was halfway through her bedroom window by the time she heard him.

"What the fuck?" She sat bolt upright as he ungracefully fell off the window sill to her floor. Once she saw the stripes she relaxed.

"Hey Lyds, where are your parents?" He had half crawled across her floor and was speaking softly, like he didn't want to startle her.

"At home, far as I know. Why? That’s not some weird come-on, right? Cuz creepy."

"Call em," he unplugged her cell from next to the bed.

"What?" She swung her legs off the bed and took the phone despite her protest.

"Just call them," He crawled onto her bed and leaned against the wall. "I'll be right here."

She stared for a moment, then found her parents landline number in her contacts and called.

"It’s going to the message machine," she was about to hang up.

"Say it's you, give them a chance to pick up."

"... Hey Dad, it's Lydia. Uhm, I was calling because, uh. Are you home? I just-"

"Lydia!" Her stepmother's voice cut her message off. "We're here, we're both home. It’s fine."

"Okay, good. One sec," she covered the mouthpiece with her hand and addressed BJ, "Why am I on the phone to Delia?"

"They're both at home?" 

"Yeah, that’s what she said. Can you explain WHAT the actual FUCK, Beej?"

"There was a thing. In New York. The financial district. Was listening to the radio on the way home from a night shift. Wanted to make sure your parents were still in Connecticut before you found out." He sighed and tipped onto his side in her bed, exhausted. "I'm gonna sleep now."

"Mom, Beej just told me to call you and isn't explaining why or what's going on." Lydia watched the man snoring quietly on top of her comforter as her mother explained what had happened so far that morning. After a few minutes Delia put Charles on, and the girl sat silent on the phone with her father while he listened to the radio for some time. She didn't ask him who he knew that was still inside the building, she was sure there was someone. Probably even someone she'd met at a dinner or Christmas party. She felt numb, and a little guilty for feeling numb.

After a half hour of minimal talking and lots of long pauses on the phone BJ woke up from his nap next to her with a snort, making Lydia snort as well.

"What's going on, dear?" Her father asked, happy just to hear her laugh.

"Just Beej, he's all passed out in- On the floor."

"BJ is there?" Her father asked, genuinely curious. 

"Yeah, he heard about the, uhm. He heard something on the radio and drove over here to tell me to call you. He didn't want me to find out about, uh, it. Until I knew where you were, I guess," Lydia wrapped the hand not holding her phone around BJ's hand and squeezed it softly. He pretended to be asleep. Badly.

"Oh, that's… Tell him thank you for me when he wakes up. If we'd been in- Ah. I mean. I'm glad he thought to be there for you," Charles cleared his throat a few times.

"Okay," she wasn't sure what to say.

"You said I'd hate him, but Lydia, it doesn’t matter. If he cares enough about you to- Well. Listen, would you bring him by the house sometime?" Charles rambled on before she could get a word in. "I know you say that you two aren't an item, and of course I believe you on that Pumpkin, but you obviously matter a great deal to one another, and I'm glad that you have him. So."

"Thanks Dad."

"Well I should let you go for now. Go eat breakfast, love. Call us if you need to talk, we'll be home by the phone all day."

"Love you, Daddy."

"Love you too Pumpkin."

She hung up the phone and squeezed Beej's hand again. He made a good show of waking up, like he hadn't just been holding his breath to eavesdrop on her phone call.

"Hey Doll. Parents okay?"

"Yeah. My father wanted to thank you for checking in on me when you thought they might be… Uhm. In danger." She paused after speaking, then threaded her fingers through his deliberately. "I also want to thank you, for the same thing." 

He sat up slowly and rubbed his face with the hand not locked in her own. She was half waiting for him to realize they were holding hands and to recoil, but he didn’t. Beej didn’t seem to even notice or at least wasn’t acknowledging the issue.   
“You hungry?”   
“Not really,” Lydia paused to consider the question. “But I should eat.”  
He pulled her upright and led her to the kitchen, only releasing her hand when she had been ushered into a chair at the dining room table. Within minutes he’d pulled out a variety of supplies and was making two sandwiches. 

“You like ham, right? Cheddar? What about pickles?” 

“Ew.” 

“More for me then,” he dropped a double layer of pickles on one sandwich. “Mayo and mustard?” 

“Extra mustard.”

“Aw, a girl after my own heart,” He posed for a moment with the mustard bottle casped to his chest. Within minutes the sandwiches were done and Lydia was nibbling on a corner of white bread. “Eh, did you. Did you want the radio or TV on? 

“No. Did you?”   
“Nah.” 

They sat in silence for some time, she managed to get in a few bites of sandwich by the time Beej was halfway through his. Lydia set her food down and glanced over, realizing he’d been eating one-handed this whole time. His other hand was sitting on the table between them like a dead thing. She was fixated on it, picking at her food while focused on his fingers out of the corner of her eye. His circulation was better, she noticed, even though his fingers were still patchy pink from damaged blood vessels. His nails were chewed down to the quick, a few cuticles raw. She realized she was being clinical to avoid thinking about- She reached out slowly, ran one of her fingers along the knuckles of his hand. When he didn’t move, she hooked her fingers under his and laced their hands together again. He finished his one handed breakfast sandwich. 

They turned on the radio later, sitting on the sofa Pru had bought last week. When Pru came home at noon she found them talking on the sofa still holding hands. Pru sat on the couch with them, pressed against Lydia's other side, and held Vince until someone said they needed to eat dinner. Lydia got up and made them spaghetti. She had the thought during dinner that for a really awful numb day, she at least wasn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So once I realized I was writing in the year 2000 I realized this was a thing I'd need to deal with. This chapter is half-inspired by a totally unrelated event: the day the Challenger mission blew up my father saw it on the news and knew my mom would be upset as heck, so he made sure she found out gently since that's all he could do. That story always stuck with me: sometimes you can't fix a thing, but you can be there for it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beej needs some minor help and manages to work his way through some nerves. Lydia hates her brain.

"I know you probably hear this all the time, but you really don't want to do this." BJ was standing with his hands half raised in a slouchy parody of surrender. 

"You're right, I hear that a lot," the guy standing in front of him with a knife smiled amicably. He wasn't a small man, the thug, but despite that he didn't fall into the same weight class as his opponent. Which was probably why he'd brought the two other idiots standing in the shadows.

The entire argument was over a few cellophaned packages of weed that BJ figured he could have offloaded in a week tops. Admittedly it had become nominally harder to get rid of products since he was "let go" from his janitorial job working for corporate slug-people, but he wasn't exactly broken hearted and college kids bought more drugs than cubicle jockeys. Though they didn't pay as well, which was a shame. Still, this was over a few scant kilos of weed and barely enough ecstasy to even throw a party. The paltry stakes pissed him off more than anything. 

BJ sighed, shrugging gracefully and letting the motion carry his hands closer to the crowbar behind him in the trunk, "Guess I tried. You really gonna rob me with a pocket knife?"

"Should be more than enough to handle you, if you're smart," the mouthy one was still being so friendly, even as his friends flanked him. Kid genuinely thought he was being rational. 

"Oh man, bum luck, rough day, mala suerte," BJ laughed. "I'm a total fuckin moron, boys." He grabbed the crowbar and swung it far faster than any of the men thought was possible, and the wicked hooked end of the thing had a reach which would have shocked the thieves if they'd been conscious to think about it. The whole altercation was over in a few swings and slashes. 

"It's a coffin-pry," BJ addressed the bodies below him. "In case you were curious."

He brushed his overgrown hair out of his eyes and noticed a flutter of white. BJ snarled and brought the bar down again on the mouthy idiots leg with a sickening crack.

"You tore my fuckin coat, asshole!" BJ threw the bar into his trunk and slapped it shut, then quickly emptied the contents of the men's wallets into his own. "Fuck, I'm gonna have to sew that and I don't know that I know how the fuck to sew. Crap" He drove away still muttering. 

+++

"Hey Lydia," BJ was parked outside of her apartment leaning against his car casually soaking in the last of the autumn sunlight. She figured he must have just come from the car dealership because he was dressed in slacks and a button-down. His sleeves were rolled up to show his now-muscular forearms, and while his white shirt was stretched just a little tight in the stomach it somehow just made him look menacingly large, which she approved of. He loosened his tie yet further, then reached up and pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. She thought of a well fed lion relaxing in the shade, content and still covered in the gore of some fresh kill, which was a weird thought she decided, and as she tried to analyze that...

Lydia didn't even feel surprise when her mind crashed for a moment with flashing neon words buzzing behind her eyes reading "HE'S HOT!"

"Hey Beej," her mouth formed the words without her volition, which she was really just super extra incredibly grateful for in the moment. "Lookin good." She was less grateful.

He grinned at her around his cigarette and over his shoulder, as both arms were now in the car reaching for something. After a moment he pulled out the striped jacket she'd gotten for him that summer and asked quietly, "Do you got a sewing kit, doll?"

"I'm not actually doing your laundry," she laughed but reached for the blazer anyway. "What happened?"

"Got caught on a sharp edge at work," he retrieved his wallet and keys from the center console.

"Come on up to the apartment, Beej. I'll make us coffee."

He was the one who ended up making coffee while she went through the hallway closet looking for Pru’s sewing kit. She managed to pull the oversized black basket down without dropping it on her skull and brought it to the kitchen table.

"Do you know how to sew?" She was threading a needle as he placed her coffee in front of her, made up perfectly, with far too much cream and no sugar.

"Hand me that and we'll see," he held his palm out and she dropped the needle and thread into his hand. After a minute of shifting, the occasional growl, and three rough stitches he stopped. "God damn it."

"Don't know how?"

"No. Fuck," he dropped the needle and coat back to the table and hung his head dramatically. 

"It's alright Beej, I can sew this and teach you." She gulped at her coffee before picking up the coat and pulling the few stitches he'd put in.

"No, it's not- Gah!" He thumped his head to the kitchen table, then rolled it to one side to blink up at Lydia. "I know how. My hands are just shit now. I can tell that I've done that before, I can even kind of remember darning socks? Which, God damn, how much of a poor loser was I?" Lydia flicked his forehead with one finger at that, but he went on, "There's so many things like this that I ought to be able to do, like write well, sew, roll a fucking- Ahem. Roll a cigarette. And I can't."

"Well that's what you have m- have friends for," Lydia squeezed his hand then picked up the coat and started stitching up the tear. "You make damn good coffee, so we'll call it an even trade."

He sat up and drank his sugar-filled coffee while she worked. In just a few minutes she'd sewen up the cut, and after a second of thought she started reinforcing the stitches on the buttons.

"So are you still working two jobs?" She paused, "Also, I'm almost out of black thread: you want white or..?"

"Is that lime green?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, use the lime green, it's cool," he shrugged and rose to refilled their drinks.

"Your 80's is showing," she shook her head but threaded up the hot green as requested. 

"Yeah, both jobs," he confirmed, setting her mug down and trying to sound casual. "Part time at both, though. Turns out I'm really good at selling people cars they don't need, but not being the owner son means my shifts are shit? What can you do, other than kneecap the brat…"

"Maiming the owners son might get you fired."

"Worth it, he's a lil shit. Anyway, how's classes?"

"Almost to midterms, everybody's panicking. My portfolio looks fine so far, working on the last of my drawings for Illustration, everything is just. Fine. Boring." She finished the second button and examined a shoulder seam critically, "This could use a few stitches. Mind a little more green on here?"

"Go nuts. And thanks," BJ cringed and lifted the kitten which had been trying to climb his leg onto the table. The kitten quickly started batting at a spool of thread. "So life is boring?"

"Yeah," She shrugged and finished up the line of whipstitches over the shoulder seam. "I shouldn't complain, I just want to get through this year so I can be done with college." She sounded tired, he thought. 

"There's an Evil Dead double feature on Saturday," he was saying it before he thought about it. He realized he would theoretically be working that day, but she was already looking up at him with a smile.

"Which films?"

"Evil Dead 2 and Army of Darkness? Which confused me, shouldn't it be the first and second film?" He spun the cat around slowly on the glossy table surface. 

"Oh man, you haven't seen Army of Darkness, have you? Oh god, we have to go!" She packed up the thread and handed over his coat.

"It's a date," he stood and was shrugging on the coat before he considered his words. She was still just smiling, which helped him prevent himself from freezing up and stuttering out something stupid. His heart was pounding and he tried in vain to pretend it wasn't. He managed to form a sentence that wasn't ridiculous, "Show starts at 11, I'll pick ya up at 10:30?"

"Make it 10, I'll bring an oversized purse and we can sneak in food," she scooped the kitten up to be kissed and deposited back on the floor, where he promptly sprinted around the sofa three times in quick succession. 

"Man, I knew I loved you for a reason," the words were out again before he considered them. He turned towards the door, eyes going panick-wide for a moment once been his back was to her, what the fuck was WRONG with him today?!

"Other than my sewing skills? Sure," she dusted off the back of his coat as he walked to the door, making him almost jump from the contact. "Don't rip it again, though. The next alteration costs you money."

She opened the door for him and leaned against it casually. BJ paused just outside the door, smiling down at her.

"Be good, babe," after a moment's hesitation he decided fuck it, if he'd been behaving this weirdly so far and she didn't run screaming then he might as well commit. He huffed out a breath and pressed a quick kiss to Lydia's forehead, just a brush against where her skin met her hairline, then turned and sauntered away before she could react. He thought he heard a laugh as the door clicked shut behind him.

Ten minutes later he parked his car on the street outside his apartment and killed the engine. His eyes were still a little wide and he didn't really remember driving home. Or blinking. Or his name, and that thought both made him snicker and pulled him out of his momentary terror/panic: not remembering things was par for the course for him, Lyds remember stuff for him. Of course they'd have fun this Saturday and he wouldn't fuck it all up and it wouldn't be weird, this was Lydia. No big deal.

A ten minute drive away Lydia was glaring into the perfectly prepared coffee he'd made her that had since gone cold, trying to decide what "it's a date" had meant and what she wanted it to mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's not really any one crowbar that is designed for opening coffins, as far as I know. However, a wrecking bar is a PRETTY NASTY bit of steel and I may or may not keep one in my trunk. Juuuust in case.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our lovebirds go on a maybe-date and don't clarify anything at all.

"I want McDonald's and Red Vines, how about you?" She tried the passenger side door handle with no luck and glanced at him over her sunglasses. "Locked?"

"Broken," he shrugged. 

She leaned into the car, setting her oversized purse on the floor just as he was about to open his door and let her in on the driver's side. He paused to glance over and got a nice view down her lacy black tank top at a bright red bra, which made him freeze up. She didn't seem to notice, but his pause gave her time to pull back out of the car and climb in feet first, her hi-top sneakers leaving dusty footprints on the seat, which were promptly covered by her puffy tulle skirt. She was dressed up, he thought, and even worse she was absolutely fuckin adorable. 

"Did you have any special requests for food?" She was asking him and getting comfortable cross legged on the bench seat as he tried to focus.

He reached into the backseat for a moment, then held up two bottles of Coke and a flask.

"Good plan," she smiled back and took the bottles. 

While he started the car she opened them and drank the first few inches of each, then emptied the flask into them and sealed the bottles back up. For a moment he was just kind of in awe that despite the fact that they'd never done this together before she was doing exactly what he'd planned.

"So pro-tip: when sneaking fast food anywhere in a purse you gotta order stuff in wrappers, not boxes," she was settling the soda low in her bag. "I don't want to clean special sauce out of my bag tonight."

"There's a dirty joke there someplace, but you're dressed too nice for me to think of it," BJ casually merged and flipped a minivan off as he spoke.

"Aw, you think so Beej?"

"Yeah, I would'a worn something nicer had I known you were dressing up," he hadn't thought this was a date, he'd talked himself out of thinking this was a date, she was acting like this was any old weekend but she was dressed up? 

"The stripes are my favorite," she was touching up her black lipstick in the sun shader's mirror. "You wear them all the time, they're your signature thing now."

+++

"Hey," he was straightening his collar in the rearview mirror, and handed her a five dollar bill casually. "Go get a ticket and I'll be right behind you."

"Why?" She was rearranging the giant box of Red Vines in her bag, tucking a scarf over it to conceal the food.

"I know you think I'm this big teddy bear or whatever, but historically I've had less than awesome luck with authority figures. You come in with me, they're definitely gonna go through that oversized bag of yours looking for a video camera." He stepped out of the car and lit a cigarette to kill some time.

"But we don't have a camera?" She crawled out his side of the car behind him.

He spread his arms and did a spin as though presenting himself, "Would you trust me?"

"I can't be objective here," She shrugged. 

He picked his teeth to avoid having to reply. After a moment she turned and left, calling out back to him, "I'm getting us seats in the back though!"

She really had gotten them seats in the back row, not that there was a crowd to fight, and he had a momentary flashback to some unknown time in a dark theater with a woman in the back row. He sat abruptly next to her to shake the memory, and held out a hand, "Coke me."

She slapped a soda into his palm as the lights dimmed.

"So am I missing out on anything not having seen the first Evil Dead film?" He whispered loudly.

"Not even a little," she stage-whispered back as a stop motion animation began. "If you like hot girls turning into bad zombies that's all you need to know."

He stared over at her for a moment wondering if she knew how amazing that sentence sounded and how amazing this whole day was. Then he wondered if she could tell he was staring in the dark and drank his whiskey and cola.

+++

After the second film Lydia was totally wired on caffeine and candy. She was practically bouncing out the theater door.

"So, what did you think?"

"I think some of those animations were spooky as fuck," they stepped out of the darkness into a bright cold afternoon. 

"Yeah, stop motion and miniatures are just TOO creepy, I love it," she shivered slightly in the cold wind, and was unsurprised when BJ dropped his coat onto her shoulders. "You'll get cold."

"I'm always cold," he shrugged like it didn't matter, so she slipped her arms into the sleeves and inhaled the traces of him: coffee, cigarettes, and mint.

"You want to get some coffee?" 

"If you keep drinking coffee you're gonna be short forever. Besides, you've had enough caffeine for a week," he sounded dismissive but she didn't want to hear it.

"Okay." She stopped walking, standing still until he had to turn back to look at her, and tried to look brave and sure, "You want some tea?"

"No," he was still looking at her, that was good at least.

"So what do you want?" She stayed still, made him walk back to where she'd stopped on the sidewalk. He walked back slowly, glancing between her and the shop window next to them.

"I'd like," he cleared his throat and tried again, but his voice was still gravely. "I'd like to take you to dinner." 

She thought that was probably a pretty conclusive answer to her unanswered question, but before she could second guess herself he reached up and brushed a stray lock of her hair back. 

"I'd like that too," she managed. With all the courage she had she reached up to where his hand still hovered and grasped it loosely. "I have one request."

"Sure," from his tone she wasn't sure he was listening.

"Can we go some place cheap and greasy? I'm craving bacon." Then she was smiling, and he was smiling, and it was easy to simply walk the two blocks to his car arm in arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been on a few "wait, was that a date" dates and they're always hilarious AF. I mean, after the fact. Once you realize you've been dating this whole time. Talking about your emotions is for other people, okay? No chance that our lovebirds are that self aware.
> 
> Crits/comments/corrections are appreciated and will probably encourage me to write! Hint. Hiiiiint.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very very short chapter, because it takes almost no time at all for you to watch your happy life crumble into a pile of "I fucked up."

Lydia had just run into her bedroom to change her shoes when the front door opened. They were supposed to go get ice cream at some new place that mixed toppings in while you waited. BJ had planned on ordering the weirdest stuff he could find on the menu, peanut butter and gummy bears and whipped marshmallow and anything else that sounded grotesque in combination. Lydia had just noticed a hole in the pinky toe of her sneakers as she flicked the lights off behind them, and since it was now officially autumn and the streets were wet, she'd opted to go change her shoes.

BJ heard keys in the door, and hadn't paused in his drinking lukewarm coffee straight out of the carafe in the dark. He'd been around here long enough to know that Pru would yell at him but without any heat, and that she washed the coffee pot out before making a new pot every time. Plus grossing her out in the dark? Too good to pass up. The voice from the doorway wasn't Pru, though.

"Pru, why is our drug dealer hanging out in your dark apartment..?" The voice was worryingly familiar. He set down the coffee pot.

"What?" Pru was right behind the taller girl both hands full of groceries, "Oh that's BJ, he's Lydia's boyfriend."

The new tall girl blinked slowly in the dark living room and turned to Pru, "Lydia's got a boyfriend?"

"Lydia's boyfriend is your what now?" Lydia was standing at the end of the hallway, backlit by the glow of her bedroom. She was a terrifying silhouette speaking far too quietly, "Can someone please repeat that?"

BJ was doing his level best to simply evaporate into the shadows at this point. He wasn't even panicking (had Lyds just called him her boyfriend?) because this was too surreal and happening too fast. He almost wanted to giggle, and a tiny part of his brain was hooting with laughter and yelling "you're FUCKED," over and over and over. Then he remembered where he'd heard the tall girl's voice.

"I just sold you weed, oh thank fuck," he wheezed from the kitchen, trying not to laugh. Lydia flicked on the livingroom lights, making everyone but her blink.

"As opposed to..?" Lydia did not move. It became much easier for him to not laugh.

With a smile Pru set the groceries on the kitchen table near the front door and tugged the tall girls hand, "We're leaving now Bert."

"We're leaving Lydia alone with-"

"We're going to go sit in your car and get really high, Bert," said Pru. She turned to Lydia, "That's where we'll be whenever you. Need us. Possibly to yell at."

The door slammed and BJ jumped straight up in the air. 

"I'll just put these away for you-" he turned away from her to the bags of groceries.

"Beej?"

Her voice was so small, and for a moment he felt his whole body tense. He stared at the wall for a moment just hating himself in total silence. By the time he turned around he'd gone through a gambit of emotions and managed to get a smile plastered on his face, "Lyds, you have to understand-"

"Do I BJ? What do I have to understand?" She had one boot laced up and the other still in her hand, and that was all he could focus on.

"Lyds, it's not like I'm out there 'popping caps' in people or something, it's just that when an opportunity-"

"An OPPORTUNITY?!?!" She threw her boot, which he let hit him in the gut and caught. 

"Do you think a guy like me can make it without gaming the system, Lydia? Are you so sheltered that you thought I could afford the sofa, the nights out drinking, skipping work to sit poolside-" He threw the boot at the door where it ricocheted to the floor roughly. 

"I didn't ask you to skip work!" She paced forward to poke him in the chest painfully.

"No, you just expected me to have the kind of time a college kid has."

"Oh, I'm a kid now!"

"I don't have the privilege of-"

"Excuse me-"

"Lydia I don't have a fucking education, okay!? No degree, no high school diploma, no nothing, I am a nobody. Also no bank account, no criminal record, no fingerprints on file: I mean can you see where I'm going with this?" He held his hands up like he was weighing two options.

She was silent, standing in her living room with one boot on, wearing tights and an oversized red sweater he'd bought her last week, and he was trying to memorize everything as fast as he could, but by the time he looked at her face she was already crying, big wet streaks down her face, nose red, mascara running and she was trying to stop, trying to mop up the tears with her cuffs.

He scrambled to his knees in front of her just to get low enough to see her, trying to pull her hands away so he could dry her cheeks with his handkerchief, and she pushed him away.

"No Beej, stop. Stop," she slapped his hands away. "Stop it Betelgeuse!"

She bolted, and he was kneeling alone in the middle of the livingroom, and her bedroom door clicked shut, and-

"Lydia?"

"Go home, BJ. I can't do this right now. I can't-" her voice broke, and he became aware that he was pressed against her bedroom door, forehead trying in vain to just phase through the wood, "I can't look at you right now."

He got out of her apartment without breaking anything, past Pru and the tall bitch she'd brought with who he wanted to kill now, into his own car, on and off the highway without crashing, and into his apartment before he finally snapped. By dawn the apartment was trashed and he was sitting on the roof chain smoking and shaking in the pre-dawn cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! Ha, yeah, not the last time he's going to destroy his life either. It gets better, swear to god, things get actually BETTER, but I did mention this fic is (theoretically) about what good people in a shitty relationship looks like, right? I promise they get a happy ending BUT FIRST let's have BJ's selfishness and Lydia's misplaced confidence just fuck shit up.
> 
> Crits/comments/corrections keep me fed and happy!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BJ is trying to be good enough, and Lydia is trying to give second chances, and everyone addresses the giant relationship shaped elephant in the room. Oh, and I also earn my Explicit tag, FINALLY.

It had been one week and BJ had sold every ounce of drugs he'd had and most of his furniture. He'd actually given away all his boxes of Girl Scout cookies free with purchases of an ounce or more. His apartment was down to a futon, some pots and mugs, and a stack of college textbooks that he kept picking up, paging through, then leaving scattered all over the house. 

At first he wasn't sure why he'd gotten rid of everything, but it occurred to him he was preparing to leave town. Once he'd had the thought, it really seemed like the only option if Lydia wouldn't see him. He didn't know anyone else anyway.

Which is why it surprised him when he heard a quiet knock on his door at 1:48 am on a Wednesday night. He let his heart go through its normal convulsions of hope it was Lydia, then fear it would be, then resignation that it wouldn't be. It was his new normal for every noise in the house, he had the whole process down to three seconds flat.

It was Pru, which made his heart go into all kinds of confused flips.

"Is Lydia okay?" He didn't even bother to sound anything but worried.

"She's fine. I just came over to tell you that I'm sorry for what happened. So is Bertie," Pru gestured to the other girl who was still leaning against a car on the street.

"Sorry I fucked your life up!" the tall girl leaned over from the driver's seat to speak out the window at him. BJ casually flipped her off which she shrugged at.

Pru rolled her eyes and continued, "I also wanted to let you know that we talked to Lydia, and I tried..." the girl paused and looked him up and down critically. He couldn't find it in him to be ashamed or even care that he was dressed in filthy sweats and an oversized tee shirt. "I wouldn't normally like you personally, BJ: you're not funny, you're mean, you drink too much and smoke too much, and you're apparently the source of the good weed Bert's been getting me all summer. But because you care about Lydia I've learned to ignore you being a gross slob and hate to say I actually like you."

"Okay," he stared, confused as to why this mattered. "Why the fuck does that matter?"

"I'm your friend, ish, and I'm giving you advice: stop selling drugs and call your fucking girlfriend, dude." Pru shrugged.

"She's not my girlfriend," he answered automatically.

"Oh my fucking god," Bertie yelled, rolled her eyes from the car and started the engine.

"Pro tip: sort that shit out too. She's too nice a girl to deal with whatever friends-with-benefits crap you're pulling," he sputtered but Pru went on, "and just because she's young and willing to put up with your bullshit doesn't mean she should have to."

He blinked, wondering what the fuck their relationship looked like to Pru, and by the time he'd come back to his senses she was back in Bertie's car.

"We're gonna be out all night and Lydia doesn't have lecture tomorrow, in case you wanted to go by," Pru called as the pulled away. He flipped the car off again for good measure. 

He didn't visit her that night, at least not officially. Three in the morning found BJ sitting in the parking lot of Lydia's apartment, cross legged on the hood of his car, once again chain smoking. Just before dawn he watched the frost blooming on the dead leaves in the gutter, and realized the growing light meant that people would be awake soon. Lydia's window had been dark the whole time, and once the chill of pre-dawn cold started to make his hands shake he drove home. 

Two days later, BJ had managed to re-purchase a bookshelf and armchair, and had recovered his old black and white TV from next to the dumpster (where no one had apparently wanted it). He'd done enough laundry to get through the three day-shifts he had at the car lot, and had restocked his pantry with ramen. He was considering staying in town, for now.

When Lydia came by she didn't knock. He wouldn't have known she was there at all if not for the vague scent of clove cigarettes drifting past on the cool air. The smell took a moment for him to place, but once he recognized it he had wandered into his own driveway to look for the source. She was sitting on his roof, facing downtown. With some swearing and hopping to get at the fire escape, he made his way up to sit beside her.

She didn't look up, just holding out the cigarette to him. He took a drag and made an exaggerated retching sound before passing it back.

"Smooth like fiberglass, Lyds."

She snorted, just a little, and he relaxed.

They watched the city lights come on in silence. After a while, he went downstairs and came back with beer and a blanket. He set the six pack down, then wrapped the quilt around her. She leaned in to his touch without speaking, so he sat beside her and just let her lean. After a bit he dragged the beer closer and offered her one. She took it and in exchange slung the blanket around him loosely, pulling him into her cocoon of warmth.

"I have a dumb question, doll," he spoke after their first beers were done. She lit another clove, and he belched and she laughed. 

"Shoot, Beej."

"Why does everyone think we're dating?" They shared the cigarette and another beer.

"Well," she spoke slowly some long minutes later. "We've gone out on dates. And we're a little bit in love, or at least I know I am."

"With me?" He probably sounded shocked, because he was.

"No, with some other fucking guy I spend all my time with: yes with you, Dickbreath." She didn't look at him at all now, eyes glaring at the Christmas lights lining downtown. 

He set down their beer and pulled the clove out of her hand. He glanced away long enough to drop to smouldering cigarette into his half empty can where it drowned with a hiss, and when he turned back Lydia was looking him, mouth half open to complain of the wasted smoke. He cut her off with a press of lips, brief and tentative and warm. And then she was smiling, turning to half crawl into his lap, hands in his hair and kissing him again, this time all slow build of lips and tongue and teeth. She tasted like cloves and beer and cinnamon bubble gum, and when she broke away for air he held onto the back of her neck with a shaky hand and buried his face in her hair.

"I'm sorry I fucked up," he spoke with his eyes closed. "I'm sorry and I'm done with that… Ah, that job. And I even gave away the Girl Scout cookies."

"Okay. It's alright," she nuzzled her cold nose against his cheek and sighed. "You'll probably fuck up again, and so will I. They tell me that's how relationships work."

"So I can stop correcting Pru when she calls you my girlfriend?" He was only half joking. 

"I don't know why you corrected her to begin with, she's always right. It's infuriating."

Once the beers were gone they helped one another down the fire escape and into his apartment. 

+++

"Were you robbed?" She was sitting on the kitchen counter looking around the empty room.

"Nah," he paused, like he was searching for what to say. "Reconsidering my life."

She just nodded while he served them cheap ramen with boiled eggs. She made several comments about how this would go well with Thin Mints if only they had any. They sat on the floor, his knees cracked when he folded to the ground, and Lydia thumbed through one of her old text books. 

"Lord Byron? How morose," She moved the bookmark aside to read as she slurped up her noodles. He didn't comment, and she couldn't think of anything at all to say that wasn't saccharine and awful.

After dinner she draped herself precariously upside down in the new armchair while he rinsed out their dishes.

"You don't have a sofa," she said.

"I hadn't noticed," he sat on the floor next to her, watching her bounce one foot casually in midair. After a minute of apparently thinking about it he reached up, moving slowly, brushing his fingers through her hair. She nearly purred, closing her eyes with a satisfied sigh. 

"I mean, I can't just crash on your sofa for the night," she spoke slowly, and hoping it was obvious that wasn't actually all she meant. 

"You can have the bed and I'll take the floor," his fingers were walking their way along her collar bone to worry at the strap of her blouse. She opened her eyes, guileless and brown, and just stared at him. Then she spun around upright in the chair until she could scoot out of it entirely to sit before him on the ground, practically in his lap, and she kissed him. 

For just a breath she felt too forward, like maybe she'd misread the moment and he was going to send her politely home. They'd already kissed, but this was her asking for something, and he might not be quite on the same page. She figured worse things could happen, it would be embarrassing as all hell but she’d survive.

Then the breath was over, before she even really had a chance to worry, and his hands were brushing her arms gently, almost unsure. His hands, she thought, and his arms, BJ's arms, my BJ's hands, could be holding her. She parted her lips just a hint, just suggesting, afraid she would frighten him away now, and it indeed took a few awkward half-sure moments before she felt him relax, his hands less ghostly on her, his tongue finally swiping against her lips. He tasted like chicken broth, but she figured so did she, and his mouth was so much warmer than she'd expected somehow. Then she was just trying not to lose it, trying to rein in the urge to clutch and pull and worm her way under his skin as he took her apart with just his mouth.

He drew back, hands on her hips somehow, when had they moved, and she stilled herself as well just proud that while she had a double fistful of his tee shirt she wasn't pulling him down hard the way she wanted to.

"You could stay, in the bed. With me," Lydia wanted to be clear on this, she didn't want some misunderstanding.

"Not sure that's a great plan," BJ muttered, cold fingertips rubbing mindlessly against her waist, his arms not nearly tight enough for her. 

"Beej, so you know where I stand… I want you to ask me to come to bed,” She was nervous, looking at his collar, and paused. She wanted to be honest with him tonight, after everything they’d been through. Lydia took a shaky breath and looked up, feeling her nervousness just melt. This was Beej, after all, radiation green eyes and pale like a plant that never saw the sun. She felt confident and safe enough to finish her thought, “...And I want you to make love to me. I want that tonight, I've wanted it probably for months but didn't admit it to myself.”

"Gee I dunnow Babes, will you still respect me in the morning?" He batted his eyelashes playfully at her. 

"Oh for God's sake, Beej!" She slapped at his chest and giggled. BJ grabbed at her hands but was being serious now.

"Lydia, listen: I don't want to fuck this up. I don't think I can tell you how bad I want to not fuck up," he seemed to be looking for the word for a moment then just settled on, "Us."

"Beej, you're not going to-"

"I absolutely AM going to, babes, my track record is very clear on this. I just want as long as I can get, so I don't want to rush in and break everything like I normally would."

"Okay, well. In that case I promise not to seduce you tonight," she patted his hand and stood. "But I'm going to use your toothbrush then sleep in your bed. That okay?"  
+++

He allowed her to help pull him up from the floor. She looked like she wanted to say more but didn't, she just wandered into the bathroom alone and did exactly as she promised, washing up quickly and using his toothbrush. He tugged the bed into some semblance of “made” then leaned against the bathroom door until she caught his eyes in the mirror.

"I only have one pillow," he cleared his throat and pretended he had intended for his voice to be so gravely. 

"I have many pillows at my apartment… And could still leave if you wanted," she rinsed off the toothbrush and set it back next to the sink where she'd found it. 

“Stay.” 

“Alright,” she trailed her fingers up his arm for a moment, then was past him and climbing onto his futon like she belonged in his bed.

He tried not to think too hard as he got ready for bed, or as he locked the front door, or turned out the lights, or as he climbed onto the bed in the dark. Lydia was so warm, just inches away from him as he lay down. He focused on remembering to breathe as he gently reached out and ran cold fingertips down her arm this time, until she turned to face him, tucking her face into his shoulder like she belonged exactly there, specifically. She was so close, breath against his throat, she’d slipped into his arms without him even noticing. He held very still trying to process the heat and proximity.  
“Is this okay?” she was calm against him. 

“Yeah, uh, this is fine,” he paused, and she moved as though to pull away leaving him panicked. He locked his arms quickly and she stilled, “This is amazing, you smell like spices, I think I feel warm for the first time since I woke up, please don’t leave.” 

He could feel her smile against the skin of his shoulder. 

“Uh, I didn’t say any of that. Never happened.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” she barely breathed the words, lips tickling his skin as she fell asleep, “I love you too.”  
+++

When she woke up it was still dark. The room was haf-lit by red neon slipping in from between his cheap blinds, and the air from the street was cold and smelled of the neighbor's cigarettes and the pizza joint down the block. She felt overheated under his three comforters and let herself drink a few deep breaths of the cool breeze. 

They’d shifted in their sleep, she’d rolled half onto her back and he’d burrowed down to be under the blankets, probably seeking more heat. She blinked awake just to enjoy this stolen two-in-the-morning moment and listened to his breathing, half snoring really, felt his fingers twitch. One of his hands was trapped under her back, the other had slipped up under her shirt to grip her ribcage gently. And she shifted she felt his cool thumb running slow lines along the underside of her breast.  
“Beej,” she murmured. She’d been about to ask if he was awake when she felt cool lips against her throat.  
“Lyds,” he replied as though it was fair for him to speak in that tone, with his voice, her name whispered against the pulse point under her ear. His hand shifted, thumb now tracing the edge of her nipple lightly. She heard him wet his lips before he began a chain of slow kisses on her sleep-heated skin, trailing down her neck to the top of her sternum. He slipped his left hand from under her back to gently pull down the collar of her shirt to allow for one kiss between her still-hidden breasts.

"And here I promised not to seduce you tonight," she joked, threading her fingers through his hair.

"Let's call it tomorrow now, kay?" and he was gently tugging up her shirt like it was part of the question.

"Yes please," and with that her shirt was gone and his hands were pleasantly chilling her skin. His tongue swiped at the nipple he'd been teasing, but Lydia was sitting up, pulling at his shirt firmly, "Off."

"Fuck," He shucked it off quickly in the dark and threw it into a corner, posing for a split second with hands thrown up, "Happy?"

She pushed up onto her elbows, and rolled him over with a gentle shove until she was the one leaning over him, "Very happy, thank you." He was sat half-upright, leaning against the headboard cushioned by their sole pillow, and she took a moment to just look at him. 

"What," he shrugged minutely.

She shrugged back. She'd seen him shirtless before, she'd eyeballed his scars and even given him an appraising once-over before. This time she just felt the incredible satisfaction of knowing she was allowed to oogle him to her heart's desire. 

"It just feels good to be able to look at you," she traced her hands along his skin, and he just watched with a quirked eyebrow.

"You really are a freak, know that?"

"I happen to LIKE you," she ran her tongue and lips along his chest, holding her own hair to the side with her hands.

"Not sure why," he groused but didn't stop her for a few minutes. 

When he did stop her it was to turn her over in his place and copy her previous motions with his tongue and a bit more teeth. She made several little noises of appreciation as he worked his way lower. She'd taken off her jeans with her bra before bed, and remembered that fact as he peeled back the blankets leaving her in nothing but a pair of panties. For just a moment she was nervous, then he was peeling down those panties and smiling up from between her thighs with genuine appreciation, maybe even adoration, and she laughed. 

"What's funny?" He didn't look upset or surprised at her giggles, just curious. 

"I keep getting nerves, then realizing it's you, my best friend, and it makes me just want to laugh at myself for being scared," she ran her fingers through his hair idly, teasing out the wild blonde locks.

BJ rolled his eyes then blew a wet raspberry against her inner thigh, renewing her laughter in shrieks. Before she'd even stopped giggling he'd pressed a kiss against her thigh, then another, working his way inward with his clever mouth until she was gasping all over again for new reasons. He slid one finger into her heat, and somehow the cold of his hand just reminded Lydia that this was BJ, hers, finally making her buck and repeat every variation of his name over and over in the cold night air. She felt so overwhelmed, even with just his tongue and one long finger crooked inside her.

He worked her close to a peak, so close she was writhing, then he smirked as he sat up, pinning her in place with one hand heavy on her stomach and the other twisting fingers inside her as his thumb rubbed her clit. For just a second then, she felt a shiver of fear; he was looking down at her like he was in some far away place, and she thought of a butterfly being appreciated but stabbed through with pins at the same time.

But then he was above her, mouth on hers and hand clever and cold between her legs. He kissed her, tongue and teeth and little biting nips that coincided with a twisting push inside her, and she moaned at just the taste of herself on his lips. As she pulled back, gasped for air, he whispered into her mouth,

"That's it, scream for me again Lydia."

There was a short eternity, then she finished coming and crying out, then gasping, then chanting his name, grinding against his hand as she let her muscles relax one by one. She noticed there was muffled hooting from someone on the street and laughed with him as the seemingly appreciative pedestrian wandered to quieter neighborhoods.  
"So be honest, is this a kink thing? Have you had the hots for me since I first screamed in your face at the hospital?" She stretched languorously under him, rubbing her thigh firmly against the hard length of him still trapped in his pants.

"Whatever you want it to be, babe," he muttered, and his tone made her grin. "You're makin coherent thought and explanations pretty fuckin hard, if you know what I mean."

"Got any condoms?" She blinked up and was surprised when he snarled and rolled over, away from her.

"No," he said sourly. 

"Well," she started at the same time he spoke.

"I'll be fine," he sure sounded pleased about it.

She raised an eyebrow and glanced down as though doubtful.

"You wanna come on my tits?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," he sat upright.

"That wasn't a no," she chuckled as he crawled right back on top of her.

"You can't just say that kind of thing Lyds!" He didn't quite manage to keep his voice steady as her hands slipped under his waistband. 

She wasn't totally confident in her hand-job abilities but was feeling much more sure moment by moment. His hands fisted in the sheets on either side of her head and she slipped the sweats off his hips and down. 

"What can't I say, that you should come on my tits?" She murmured the words into his hair and appreciated his responding groan, wetting her lips. "Maybe you just like me vocal, screaming, talking, whispering dirty shit. Begging for your cock."

He nodded vigorously into her hair. She wiggled down a few inches in the bed, using both hands now and smiling against his neck. Her movements were making the head of his cock brush against her belly roughly.

"You want me to ask then? Want me to beg you to paint me with come?" Her voice was quiet but he nodded again, wildly. "Would you, if I asked, would you give me every fucking drop?" He was making the sweetest noise she'd ever heard, hips stuttering. She ran one thumb over the head of him, "Please Beej, I want it. I want to watch you, I want to feel you, please come, do it for me. I want to see your face, the way I won't be able to when I've got your dick so far down my throat you can feel me swallowing around-"

And apparently that was all it took, because partway through her words he was gasping her name and spattering her with come, his shaking arms trying to keep his weight off of her. After a few gasped breaths that she kept trying to distract him from by slipping her tongue into his mouth, he stood to retrieve a wet washcloth and helped her clean off. He managed a few laughing swipes then she batted his hands away, cleaned herself up, and walked the filthy hand towel to the bathroom sink.

When she came back she stopped and posed coquettishly in the doorway, very aware of her nudity. She smiled. 

"I don't know where the hell that came from, but bra-fuckin-vo, doll," He was sitting on the bed back in his sweats, but flopped onto his back with a sigh. "I didn't expect that. I mean, not that I had expectations," he was gesticulating at the ceiling now. "I mean, I can't lie, I did. I've had expectations for months, can I admit to months? Years. Well a year-"

She rolled her eyes and crawled over him into the bed, and he spent a few distracted seconds chasing after her breasts with his lips and hands until they were a tangle of limbs in the center of the futon. He pulled the blanket over them with one arm then burrowed his face between her breasts.

"Next time you should have condoms," she muttered into his hair. "How did YOU not have condoms for Christ's sake…"

"You know, funny story, I only managed to get one girl to come over and she actually did get distracted by the textbooks?"

"You're joking," she halfway didn't want to hear more, but he sounded so nonchalant. 

"She called me 'morose' for liking Lord Byron, so I don't know if it's gonna work out-" He was cut off by a sharp pinch to his waist. "Hey now! I mean, getting called 'morose' by a goth chick, that's a new low for me, hey! Stop pinching!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it feel like that was too easy? It was. IT WAS.
> 
> On a totally unrelated note, I miss having fully functional lungs that let me smoke cloves. I also miss beer, and ramen, and all my other now-deadly vices, but at least I can write about them?
> 
> Check out my other fics as well, since I'm currently juggling three like a maniac. 
> 
> Crits/comments/corrections/heart-emojis keep me functioning, please god gimmie.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some cute fluff to lower your defenses! I mean. Because life is inherently good and kind?
> 
> Actualy: warning, we deal a bit more with Lydia's depression in this one, she has a bit of a bad day. Chapter Notes have more info, but just be warned.

"Here's the thing," Lydia looked seriously at him from across the kitchen table. Her fingers were steepled and she tapped her index fingers against her lips. "I don't want to have this conversation with Pru, do you?"

  
"Oh my god," BJ rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's not like I was naked or something."

  
"Pru would literally see no difference between you in boxers and you nude, that's my point."

  
"It was the pizza guy, he has seen so much worse. Trust me."

  
"Agree, or next time I'll answer the door shirtless," she looked like she was so proud of her solution. 

  
"That is a non-issue for me, I'm not a jealous man. In fact, you can be as topless as you want as often as you want. Actually have you considered becoming a nudist?"

  
"Just," she dropped her head to the table, "agree so I can make coffee."

  
"Convince me," he countered with a smile. 

  
She stood abruptly, and for a second he thought she was angry, but then with a perfectly straight face she flipped up her shirt and flashed him.

  
"Sold! I promise to put on a shirt when in this house and outside of your room," he slid silently around the table while her raised shirt was occluding her sight of him.

  
"Was that so hard," she laughed, but in flipping down her shirt found he was inches away from her.

  
"It is now," he tugged her shirt back up and over her head, then dipped her low in a kiss while hers were tangled in her sleeves. "Come back to bed."

  
"Beej!" She flailed, holding onto her shirt, which he did not let go of.

  
"You're in flagrant disregard of the no-shirt rule, just saying," he was pulling her by the shirt back to her room.

  
"But coffee," she managed to wrest the shirt free just as he shut the bedroom door behind them, and tugged it back on.

  
BJ just laughed and spun her close to his chest, plucking the shirt back off and flinging it away, "Oh love, I'm going to try my best to make you forget coffee, forget your name even."

  
+++

  
The next time he saw Pru, she was indeed mad at him and he couldn't stop grinning.

  
Lydia was trying to hide behind her wine glass while Pru halfheartedly chastised them. Past Lydia, Bertie was trying much more successfully to hide behind a throw pillow.

  
"No listen, you can't just get stoned with someone else's girlfriend and then, when they get home from a long day of answering stupid questions from dumb freshmen tell them that there's not only no more weed in the house, but that you're not SELLING at all any more!" 

  
He shrugged, grinning. 

  
Lydia drained her wine glass, refilled it, and offered it to Pru with a smile, "Wine?"

  
Bertha started giggling uncontrollably, which set BJ off, which set Lydia off. When they finally wound down, Pru had recovered their Ben & Jerry's from the freezer and was eating out of the container with a spoon.  
"We're watching Sailor Moon, none of you have a vote," Pru said around a mouthful of ice cream. Bertie pulled the smaller girl's feet into her lap and began to rub them.

  
"I'm sorry we didn't wait for you," The larger girl was saying. 

  
"I forgive you because you're pretty."

  
"Gross," BJ volunteered.

  
"Ooh, shut up, Tuxedo Mask is about to show up," Lydia shushed him and settled into his lap with her wine.

  
+++

  
"So when did you and Bert become a thing?" BJ was helping the smaller woman tidy the livingroom while Bertie and Lydia slept leaning against one another on the sofa.

  
Pru paused in tidying and looked over at the women with a small smile, "Remember when we stopped by your place to apologize? That night. We were driving and I made some joke about how you and Lydia were being ridiculously dense. Bertie just pulled the car over and sat for a second, then asked if she could kiss me."

  
BJ made a gagging noise at her.

  
"Whatever, Dickbreath: Lydia told me all about the two of you and Lord Byron," Pru sneered without malice and dumped their dishes into the sink.

  
"Now you're calling me 'Dickbreath' too? See if I offer to carry your drunk girlfriend into your room ever again."

  
"Oh, hell, would you? I mean you still owe me for smoking the weed I bought off you when I wasn't even home…" 

  
"I can get you more. I'm not gonna sell drugs to my girlfriend's classmates, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna fucking join DARE or some shit," he knelt and hoisted up Bertie gently.

  
"God, I'm imagining you dressed in a polo, trying to give a talk to 'hip kids'," Pru laughed and let the way to her room. "Sitting backwards in a chair like a youth pastor or something."

  
"I can still drop Bert here: I have no problem doing that," he grumbled. 

  
"Sorry, just set her on the bed there."

  
He made a quick escape once Pru started peeling off her girlfriend's shoes and socks, and shut the door behind him.

  
"Come on Lyds, up you get," he wrestled his girlfriend into a bridal carry. She was just awake enough to throw her arms around his neck with a warm breath.

  
"Mmh, thank you Beej." 

  
"What, for getting you and Bert stoned?"

  
"No, for being nice to Pru. And for not selling drugs anymore," her breath was sour from red wine but he found himself oddly charmed all the same.

  
"It's good to know you're a hypocrite," he joked as he lay her gently under the covers, then helped her out of her bra and jeans.

  
"I don't mind drugs," Lydia clarified as she rolled toward the wall to make room for him. "I mind you being in danger. From drug dealers, or cops."

  
He climbed into her small bed behind her, pulling her back and wrapping around her like a greedy octopus. He wanted to think of the right thing to say, wanted the right words for why she didn't need to care if he was okay, but they wouldn't come.

  
+++

  
She didn’t reply to his text immediately, which wasn’t surprising since he’d sent two words: “shower sex?” He’d figured she might be busy that evening, and not have remembered to reply before bed. But by lunch the next day he assumed it was something more.

  
“Lyds not replying: she dead or sad?” He sent Pru.

  
She replied with “Was home in AM, ergo not ded.” Which made him annoyed, who used “ergo” in texts?

But he figured that answered his question well enough.

  
BJ called Lydia’s phone, not really expecting and answer but hoping she would know that an in-person visit was coming next. But someone did pick up-

  
“Lydia’s phone, Delia speaking,” the voice said. 

  
“Uh,” he remembered that the Wicked Stepmother was named “Delia” just in time to avoid asking something about whom the fuck was she. Instead he managed, “This is BJ calling for Lydia, is she okay?”

He was rather proud of that bit of ad-lib, really, considering he was also searching furiously for his car keys now. 

  
“Oh, you’re BJ! Lovely to finally speak with you,” she didn’t sound like it was lovely. “Lydia is just feeling a bit under the weather, she came down with something after visiting for dinner last night.”

  
“Has she gotten out of bed today?” He asked, skipping past the bullshit cover her stepmother was trying.

  
“No,” the woman didn’t sound surprised that he’d seen through her. “And while she’s always welcome here, I think this dreary old place isn’t helping much."

  
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he was already locking the door behind himself.

  
“We’ll be expecting you.” 

  
The line cut, but he thought this Delia sounded almost pleased with him. He chewed on what he knew about Delia from his prior conversations with Lydia. They didn’t get on well, stepmother, controlling, but seemed to want what was best for his girl.   
He ignored the speed limit until he was within the last half-mile, then slowed to something just over the posted signs.

  
As he pulled up in the circular driveway he realized two things he hadn't really digested last time he'd picked Lydia up here: firstly that this place was super creepy feeling, and second that Lydia's family was LOADED. He tried not to think about that as a ginger-ish man walked down what could be loosely called a grand staircase to meet him. 

  
"BJ, nice to finally meet you, I'm Charles," the man held out a hand to be shook, which BJ did trying not to be visibly confused. 

  
He was just here for Lydia.

"I'm just here for Lydia," BJ said, and spent about a half second wondering if Cuckie here would throw him out for being a rude jackass before he decided he didn't care. "Is she alright?"

  
"Just feeling a little-" Charles replied placating before being cut off.

  
"A little like slitting her wrists? Like a long walk off a short pier? Like swan diving off the roof? Yeah, I know, she sure gets under the weather like that," BJ was elbowing past the doorstop of a man. "Which way is she?"

  
Charles pointed to the top right of the stairwell and BJ was gone.

  
+++

"Hey, dollface…"

  
She didn't move, she was probably asleep and this was a rather nice dream. She hadn't known BJ in high school, but that's obviously where she was since the wall in front of her had her parents wallpaper and she was curled around a teddy bear.

  
"I wanted to come check on you. How's the morbid fascination with death these days?" A chair creaked, he was probably sitting at the vanity beside her bed.

  
"All encompassing," she muttered. 

  
"Yeah, well, that's death for ya."

  
She lay there for a while, slowly breathing through her nose, noticing the smell of stale cigarettes and dollarstore mint shampoo that BJ always radiated. 

  
"Beej, I'm beginning to worry this isn't a dream."

  
"Why is it worry?"

  
"Because is this isn't a dream than I'm just a fuckup disappointment who dragged you out to my parents house and I now have a plethora of worries to think on regarding you having to interact with my parents without me there as a BUFFER and also you should be working-" she felt her voice break before she realized she was crying. 

  
"Good thing it's definitely a dream then," he said, and toed off his boots. He crawled into the bed behind her as carefully as possible, lying above the blankets. She was sobbing silently now, and he stroked her hair before wiggling his fingers into the warm space between her and the teddy bear. 

  
They didn't speak for some time, and eventually Delia peered in from the doorway to check on them. BJ felt her gaze and stiffened, but Lydia had just stopped crying so he stayed still. After a moment the older woman was gone, and Lydia seemed to be slipping back into sleep. He waited a few long minutes more, then slipped away to downstairs lured by the scent of coffee.

  
"How's she doing?" Delia was leaning against an expensive stove he thought had probably never been used. A little ways down the counter sat a steaming electric kettle and a chemex carafe of coffee. "Help yourself," Delia gestured. 

  
He dropped a few sugar cubes in the modern handleless mug sitting on the counter and covered them in enough black coffee to dissolve. He didn't see a spoon, so he swished the mug a few times in both hands before speaking. 

  
"She's talking, that's normally a good sign, right? Means she's coming out of it. When she gets non-verbal is when I personally get really concerned," he sipped his coffee, and added another sugar cube.

"But you've been doing this longer than me, right? What do I know."

"Seems like enough," Charles was entering the room, digging through a cupboard. He pulled out a mug and stood beside BJ to pour coffee.

  
"It is nice to finally meet you-"

  
"Sure."

  
"- even if the situation isn't ideal. Thank you for checking in on Lydia, both today and… Back in September. It's good to know that there's someone in her life who would be there for her if something should happen to us," Charles looked a little put out at the interruption but moved on.

  
"I'm sure you know I'm not doing it for you," BJ replied. His skin was crawling with all the social niceties. 

  
"Did she say anything?" Delia asked. She seemed to be able to read the room.

  
"I think she's worried we'll all kill each other without her here to babysit us," BJ slurped at his coffee loudly. "Know any really funny jokes?"

  
"Why?" Delia asked.

  
"So she wakes up to the sound of us laughing together and not Chuckie here reading me the riot act over dating his daughter?"

  
Charles blanched.

  
+++

  
They'd gone through all their jokes, or at least all their clean-ish jokes, within a half hour and Lydia still wasn't upright. No one was surprised.

  
"Would you take this up, BJ?" Delia had cut up some apples and celery and plated them around a dollop of peanut butter. It was probably the most cooking this kitchen had seen in weeks.

  
"Sure thing," he smiled. Charles had opened a bottle of scotch right about the time he realized BJ was serious about the jokes, and everyone had gotten along a lot better after a glass or two. If Chuckie handed him a bigger glass with a smaller serving, it certainly wasn't because the older man had noticed BJ having a hard time holding his coffee cup, and BJ certainly hadn't appreciated it.

  
On the way up the stairwell he made sure his steps were creaky and loud. 

  
"Hey Lyds, awake?"

  
She rolled over and he tried not to cheer about it.  
"Hey Beej. Guess that wasn't a dream. You been here all day?" Her voice was quiet even in the still air.

  
"Just for a little bit, really. Came by to check on ya. I brought some food, you up to eating?" He sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair back with his free hand.

  
"Did Delia make it?"

  
"Yeah, but I watched her, there's no poison or nothin." He held the tray low for her to see.

  
"Okay, yeah, but eat that," she pointed at a slice of apple.

  
"The apple?"

  
"Sure."

  
He popped a slice into his mouth. It was a turnip. He ate his turnip, then set the tray on her vanity.

  
"Would you be interested in a burger?" He smiled hopefully. 

  
"I would eat french fries," she sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Maybe in your bed?"

  
"I can probably manage that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey now, where my Bipolar 2 people at? I'm gonna be honest, this is on Lydia both because I think it fits what we've seen of her in the film and because, yo, your author has the mental health problems and this is what they look like sometimes. Your mileage can and will vary. It's been a hot minute since a depressive episode for me, but I remember pretty well the feeling and hope some of that read through more or less alright. 
> 
> It's also worth noting that Bipolar 2 doesn't mean you're suicidal, full stop. But Lydia is, and I have been, so that whole bit of BJ being kind of flippant at Charles is more of me projecting: I gotta treat this a little casually because it helps me. I hope that doesn't hurt you as a reader.
> 
> Side note: both "We're watching Sailor Moon and none of you have a vote," and "Can we pour schnapps in the carton of ice cream," are more or less from my former roommate. Yes, she's the best thing ever and Pru may be a liiiiitle modeled after her sometimes. Like the enduring her roomies antisocial prickly boyfriend with grace and dignity, even when he climbed in through a bedroom window at dawn..? Whoo, admitting a lot of personal sources for this fic guys.
> 
> Comments/crits/corrections are good and bring me joy! Feed your author folks. <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lovebirds get cozy, everything seems peachy.

"There are not a lot of things I wouldn't be willing to do for Hardee's curly fries," Lydia munched slowly on her dinner.

"If I'd known that I would'a demanded some sexual favors first."

They were sitting in his bed, listening to a radio perched precariously on the windowsill, watching the sunset through the tipped-up blinds. Lydia was still wearing a dinner dress from the night prior, hair pulled up roughly in one of BJ's old rubberbands.

He'd secretly gotten three orders of curly fries and was refilling her serving with more when she wasn't paying attention. She'd finished a little over two of the orders and most of their shared milkshake before she slowed down. He drank the last of the milkshake with a slurp.

"You done?" He gestured at the food bags.

"Yeah," she rolled over into the pillow.

He threw away their trash, locked the front door, and turned off the livingroom lights. For a minute he just stood in the dark, watching the lightbulb slowly stop glowing. He looked around in the dark for anything that told him he was helping, that Lydia was better off here than at her parents, or than alone. His taped-up posters and secondhand furniture had no conclusive reply.

In the bedroom Lydia had sat back up and was shrugging her way out of her dress. She threw the crumpled thing to hit the wall and sat there, looking beautiful and disheveled in her underwear and tights. She smelled moderately terrible. 

"Could I interest the lady in a nice relaxing bath?"

"You have a stand up shower," she pointed out.

"That fits two. I'll wash your hair," he offered a hand and waited as patiently as he could manage while she considered it.

"As long as all I have to do is stand there, sure," she was trying to stand when BJ pulled her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. 

"I have legs."

"Yeah, I think I've seen those, wrapped around my head," he was undressing as she shimmied out of her underwear, and he caught a hint of a smile. 

"Oh is that the trick, I just have to talk dirty to cheer you up?"

"Your idea of dirty-talk could offend the dead, Beej. Better not push it."

"I'll push something," he pulled her into the shower and started up some almost scaldingly hot water.

"What does that even mean…"

He managed to get her to help with at least soaping up and rinsing them both off, but that and the smile seemed to have been the tail end of her energy. After a few minutes she was leaning into his chest as he worked shampoo and then conditioner through her dark hair. They stood in the shower for some time after, until the water started to grow chilly.

"You ready for bed, love?"

She only nodded in reply.

Once they were both relatively dry and wearing his oversized tee shirts, he curled around her in bed.

"I work tomorrow," he whispered the words, trying to soften the conversation. 

She only nodded again, breathing the smell of his skin and water in. 

"So, I thought," he stuttered, trying to find words. "That is, if you, fuck. I got you a key. It's by the door, got a cute blackbird keychain. You can come and go here as much as you want, and, uhm. There's a spare toothbrush for you. In the cabinet."

She was crying quietly.

"No, no, shit, I didn't mean to pressure-"

"It's fine! It's good. I'm happy. This isn't upset, it's just… A lot. Overload from the day," she rolled onto her back and sniffled. "Thank you."

"Okay. Let's go to sleep, and we can talk in the morning, alright?" 

She nodded at the ceiling, dried her eyes on her shirt's collar, then rolled back into his chest. Her sniffling and breathing evened out to sleep within just a few tired minutes. He watched the lights for some time before he joined her.

+++

"Pru, how long was our lease for?"

"Oh no, nope, you are not at the moving-in-with-him stage," Pru set down the knife she'd been using to chop vegetables and stared down Lydia.

"No, we're not," Lydia confirmed. She continued to stir the roux she was making. "But we might be in, oh, seven or so months… What about you?"

The sound of chopping resumed after a moment.

"Is it weird if I say I don't know, but.. I don't think so?" Pru's voice was quiet.

"No," Lydia pulled the roux off the heat quickly and stood by her friend. "No that's absolutely not weird. That's fine. You can feel that way today and still feel that way in seven months, that's also fine Pru! There isn't a schedule for this kind of thing. It's okay to not be ready!"

Pru had dropped the knife and was tearing up a little, which made Lydia pull her into a hug.

"I'm really happy, but I don't want… I don't want things to change. Ugh, those onions, huh? I cry ever time," Pru managed after a bit.

"Yeah, they're totally gross. I'll chop them," Lydia squeezed her friend's shoulder. "Go try to save that roux I messed up."

+++

"I moved it all, didn't I?"

"You did, sure. All I'm saying is why not move more?" 

"I can't be seen doin' that anymore, Jake. Turns out I have a reputation to uphold, who knew?" BJ was pacing the alley, one hand fiddling with a patch on his coat while the other ashed a cigarette absently. Jake leaned back, arms crossed, face thoughtful. He knew what it was like to suddenly find you had more to care about than you had realized, though the result hadn't been LESS work for him.

"I might know someone who has a different type of job… You ever been a bouncer?"

"Sure, been there and done that," the words delivered too fast and flippant to be true.

"Funny story; this gal, friend of my boss, she needs someone who can get shit done. She's a good lady, just impatient. I'll run it by her and get back to ya."

"Thanks Jake," BJ sucked one last drag on the smoke then ground the butt out with his heel like it had personally wronged him. "Let's go back inside, I owe you a beer."

+++

Lydia stared into her top drawer and tried to decide what factors she even needed to consider before making a decision. Did it really matter where she kept her best lace panties? As long as she wore them on occasion both her and BJ would probably be happy, regardless of which laundry they ended up in, right?

She grabbed a random handful of undies and stuffed them into her backpack. She repeated the process for socks, shirts, and two pairs of pants, pretending that there was some kind of hurry so that she didn't need to think too hard about her selections. It was almost all black clothing anyway.

"Hey Lyds! You ready?" The voice rang out from the livingroom, as she stuffed flats into the bag.

"Almost! Be right down!"

"I'm warming up the car."

Lydia listened to the front door shut at a volume that might be considered a slam, if you didn't know BJ and how loud he could be. She shoved two oversized sweaters into the top of the bag and tugged a sweatshirt on herself quickly. Once bundled up, she shut her bedroom up and searched the livingroom for their kitten.

"Vincent?" She cooed around the room until she found the scruffy black cat yawning widely from his perch on the arm of their shabby sofa. "There you are, my little dark prince!"

Vince tried to meow and yawn at the same time, making an adorable stuttering yowl.

"Oh you are just a wreck my dear," she kissed the cat just between his ears."Be good!"

And then she was out the door, locking up quickly in the chill air before racing down the steps to throw herself into BJ's warm car.

"You ready for a whole week of uninterrupted debauchery?" Her boyfriend leered at her as he pulled out of the parking lot, hands already creeping up her thigh. 

"We both work," she pointed out.

"You'll call in," he sounded confident, managing to graze his fingers along the inner seam of her jeans before she slapped his hands away.

+++

"Speaking of our earlier argument about being debauched," she was setting her bag on the new-used loveseat BJ had recently acquired. "I've apparently been on the pill long enough that we can stop using-"

And then she was cut off because he was kissing her, hands on her cheeks, kicking the front door closed behind him.

"Fuckin' finally," he was whispering into her lips, and when she smiled and nodded he shucked out of his coat so fast she thought it dissapeared. He walked her backwards a few steps, kissing her senseless, before his head shot up. He stumbled the few feet to the door, locked it, then was back with hands all over her. Lydia pulled him along by the shoulder.

"I've been wanting this for weeks," she was saying against his lips, which just made him impatient. He lifted her up by the waist and awkwardly shuffled them the last few feet to throw her on the bed.

"Yeah?" He managed to ask as he pulled her pants around her ankles.

She was tangled up in her sweatshirt and tank top, so she just nodded vehemently and hoped he could tell.

"If I can escape this, I'll show you how excited I am," her voice was muffled, hands over her head, when she felt the fabric tangle further. She gripped around over her head with her caught-up hands and realized he'd put his palm on the mess of clothing she'd trapped herself in. "Really?"

"Don't have to worry about ya struggling this way," he said in a villainous drawl, but then laughed then licked a stripe up her ribs.

"You don't get to appreciate my enthusiasm this way either, though," she argued.

He spent a few seconds holding her there, distracted by her chest, before helping her tug the last of her clothing off.

She leaned back, resting on her elbows, watching him.

"Well? Do I get a show too?"

He turned away, only to lever what he probably intended to be a sultry gaze at her over his shoulder, "Why hello there."

She grinned and sat more upright, "Fuck yes, stripper BJ!"

He'd unbutton his shirt and pulled it loosely off one shoulder, then rolled the fabric down his back with a stretch. With a laugh he turned, letting go of the charade, and tossed his shirt at her face.

"Did that really do it for ya?" He asked.

"What, my boyfriend acting like a goofy freak, taking off his clothes, committing to the bit that hard? Fuck yeah it did," Lydia batted the shirt off herself and sat upright to help him with his pants.

He smiled down at her for a moment completely charmed as she tugged the last of his clothing down to around his ankles, kissing along his hip.

"Shame and modesty get you nothing," she said, "Honesty and candor are way more effective." 

He was about to say something really clever when she wrapped one hot hand around his dick and licked a wet stripe down his length. He focused on breathing while she repeated the action until she'd determined everything including her hand was slick enough for her to suck him all the way into her mouth and oh god if she swallowed right now he'd die-

"Lyds, ya gotta- Christ! Nope, gotta stop love," he gently pulled her back, tugging her hair slightly when she fought him.

She grinned up at him, and he couldn't help but drop down to kiss her, her tongue and lips and hot hands, until he was crowding her back, climbing up and onto the mattress, until her arms and legs were wrapped around him and he was so hard, pressed against her hot entrance, trying not to let his arms shake around her and-

"Love you," she whispered.

And she must have rolled her hips because that was hot bliss, and he was swearing and promising filthy things out loud, and unspoken a million other things less filthy and more heart wrenching and brutal and unbreakable, buried in her like he was going to take up residence under her skin. 

She moaned, managing to make her lips say his name, and he finally slowed, coming up for air from where he'd sunk biting and kissing and licking her neck, and looked into her eyes. Then he was smiling, pulling her hand down to rub her own clit in time to his thrusts.

"Come for me?" He asked it like it would be a big favor, so she just nodded, biting her lip. Her head fell back, breathing in time with him.

"Ah, I'm so close," she half complained, so he leaned back into her neck, teeth in her skin.

"Love you, Lyds. Love your skin and tits and perfect ass, your hair and hands and dark little mind, want to wake you up to this every morning until the sun burns out."

And then she was shaking, coming hard with her short fingernails dug into his back, and the sharp sting sent him right after her, hips stuttering and open mouth pressed to her pulse.

After their breathing evened out she shifted, rolling out from under him with a sigh and a kiss to his bicep.

"I'm going to use the bathroom, get dressed, then make some dinner," she gathered up her clothing.

"I'm going to put boxers on and wait for dinner," he countered, earning him a slap on the ass.

+++

She did not call in to work, though she was beginning to realize she should have. She'd tried to cover up the mark on her neck with makeup first, then tried a scarf, but neither quite worked. At this point she'd decided to just stop caring and ignore it. I mean she'd seen coworkers with hickeys before, and… Okay, this was less of a hickey and more of an obvious half bite mark, just a short span of curved bruises that obviously read as teeth, which was probably why all the psyching herself up wasn't helping. 

"Kinky fucking asshole," she glared and adjusted the scarf uselessly in the mirror. She heard a snort as she turned, and realized a customer was exiting the second stall.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, that was just hilarious," the girl was washing up and smiled at Lydia in the mirror.

"I mean, at least you laughed, that's a positive reaction rather than judgy or concerned stares."

"Has anyone been giving you those today?"

"No, I'm just paranoid," Lydia shrugged and straightened her blouse, then headed back out, holding the door for the girl. 

"You work here, right?" The girl asked as they left.

"Yeah."

"I know you can't backtalk customers, but if any of them give you shit just tell me and I'll spill my coffee on them," the girl grinned and held out a hand. "I'm Ginger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have like GRAND PLANS for Jake and Ginger, but I'm having a dumb amount of fun thinking up backstory for them. Le sigh.
> 
> OhOH ALSO: Lydia paraphrases a line from my favorite fanfic by thebratqueen and anyone who can identify it gets brownie points!
> 
> Comment/crits/corrections are LIFE! Please leave me them, please god!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter about trying to get along with your girlfriend's parents and family gatherings.

"So what exactly is the job?" BJ was picking his teeth with a nail, sitting on the arm of the ratty sofa. He and Jake had hauled it in from the alley last week, leaving it squished against a wall in the back room of the bar. Jake had said his girlfriend had okayed it, she was bartender most nights here and everyone agreed the back smoking/break room really needed some kind of seating. It was nicer than any furniture BJ remembered owning, which he was mildly upset about. 

"There's some guys who just need to be convinced to stop doing business," Jake waved a slip of paper with one hand. "Pretty small outfit. I was thinking you, me, some of the boys, we show up and trash the place, easy," Jake stubbed out his cigarette in the ridiculously oversized ashtray balanced on the other arm of the sofa, then shoved the paper into his spiked jacket draped over the back of the sofa.

BJ rolled his eyes and finished his whiskey, slamming the glass down on the end table next to him with a solid thunk.

"What?" Jake asked

"Lotta guys for such a small job, don't think we need to waste the boys time is all."

Jake looked unimpressed, didn't reply.

"Just gimme the address and I'll deal with it."

"You're an idiot," Jake half laughed, and rose headed back to the bar. "You ever had a red headed slut?"

"I mean…" BJ shrugged. 

"It's a drink. Ginger! Two red headed sluts, love, and I don't mean you!" Jake wandered back to the front room and the bar.

After a moment and some muffled laughter from Ginger filtering through the wall, BJ rubbed his eyes tiredly. He paused, then fished through the pockets of Jake's coat for cigarettes.

+++

"I have a question, and I want to preface this with the disclaimer that I have zero expectations," Lydia was washing her face as she spoke, smudged makeup giving her raccoon eyes.

"Way to make me worried and moderately offended," he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. "But please, with an opening like that, do go on."

"Do you want to come with me to my parents house for dinner the Sunday before Christmas?"

"Oh my god no."

She paused in scrubbing her face to glare up at him in the mirror.

"Was that too fast an answer? Thought your expectations were low or some shit."

"I meant I didn't expect you to come with, but I did expect you to think about it," she patted her face dry then walked up to stand before him. 

"Okay, but consider- I may have already thought about this and determined that I did not want to join your family for the night 'cause I wanted to ensure ya had a lovely family holiday," the sentence petered off like he'd lost the thread as she pulled her shirt off slowly.

"Any of that true?" Lydia posed pushing her chest out, hand on hip, smiling when she realized he was having a hard time breaking eye contact with her perky nipples.

"No, I jus' don't wanna alienate yer dad and make ya hate me, are you trying to manipulate me with yer tits?" His voice was ridiculously rough, words abbreviated. 

"Is it working?" 

"Mebby. Could be more convincin' I bet," his fingers reached down, slipping under the elastic of her panties to snap them.

She shimmied out of her underwear, then pushed him backward and into the bedroom, slapping his hands away when he tried to touch her, "Hey, this is my show big boy. Let me be convincing."

+++

"I think I'm disassociating," BJ managed, blinking down at the basket in his hand.

"You good?" Lydia had paused, hand raised to knock. She was smiling, but still paused, not really worried but thoughtful enough to wait for his confirmation, which was just painfully sweet.

He freed one hand to lift her chin and kiss her deeply, tongue tracing her lip before he finally pulled away. He knocked loudly himself before she recovered, side-eyeing her warm and noticeably flushed face. Before the door could open she managed a quick eye roll at him and composed herself. 

"Lydia! Dear, we're so glad you could make it," Delia was pulling her stepdaughter into a half hug, making a smooching sound in the space beside her cheek. "And BJ, thank you for coming with! It will be so nice to catch up again."

The man in question used the basket in his hands to avoid any hugging, though he still endured an air-kiss on either side of his face, his eyes comically wide through the whole affair.

"Good to see you agains too, Deels," he managed as Delia swept them both indoors. 

"Charles! Lydia and Beej are here!" The older woman called out, then swept into the kitchen while Lydia struggled out of her coat.

BJ's eyes were stuck on wide-and-traumatized mode.

"Did... Did she?"

"I call you Beej all the time, she must have just picked it up from me," Lydia had finished divesting herself of winter clothing and took the basket.

"It's just wrong to hear her say that," he clarified, not moving. 

"You did call her 'Deals.' Come on, take your coat off and join us in the kitchen," Lydia pressed a kiss to his cheek as she left and he tried to un-widen his eyes.

By the time he'd endured welcoming pleasantries from Chuck, BJ had calmed significantly. Delia was gushing to Lydia about some art opening in town next week, and from the excitement on the young woman's face he already knew he was going to find a way to take her to whatever the show was.

"BJ, you do any cooking?" Chuck was asking, pulling vegetables out of the fridge. 

"Not very much," he answered. 

"Mind dicing this?" Chuck pushed a knife and cutting board toward BJ, who slowed his hands and tried to look just a little less comfortable than he felt with sharp objects. The two men let the silence stretch for a few minutes, and BJ thought the whole affair was slightly less awkward than he'd feared.

"So what do you do for work?" Chuck asked, and yep, there was the missing awkward. 

"Oh you know, this and that, sales mostly" BJ spun the knife in his hand for a moment until he realized that really wasn't an answer. He glanced over and saw Lydia was mixing drinks at a little section of the counter covered in bar supplies. She was half listening to her mother, and half watching him squirm. "Tried pharmaceutical sales for a bit there." He watched her eyes go wide and tried not to smirk back.

"Sales, hm? Lydia said you sold cars as well?" The older man borrowed the cutting board to sweep the freshly sliced potatoes into a bowl.

BJ just nodded.

"Here, I fixed you a drink," Lyds slid next to him with a cup in each hand, then passed him one glass with a thin smile. He sipped it to find it was bitter tonic water with nothing else in it. He must not have hidden his cringe well, because Lydia's smile became slightly more genuine. 

"Well I'm still at the cafe, not that either one of you care," Lydia chirped, glaring at her father somewhere between warm and exasperated.

"You hate being nice to customers, I know you Pumpkin: you'll storm out of that job within the year," her father waved his cheese grater dismissively.

When Lydia turned away to explain to her father why customer service was so awful, he quickly scooped up her glass and stole a sip: gin and tonic, with enough lime juice to pickle his tongue. He coughed and she just kissed his cheek and took her drink back from him, never pausing in her tirade about why 'the customer' should be shot from a rocket into the sun.

+++

"So did you enjoy the baby-photos portion of the evening?" Lydia was slouched down in her seat, trying to light a clove cigarette below the window so her father wouldn't see from his position waving goodbye on the porch.

BJ slowed down as he pulled the car away from the curb, "Wave now, dear." 

She glared and juggled her unlit cigarette to wave, "Bye Daddy!" 

"Good night dear! Merry Christmas!"

After an agonizing minute BJ finally pulled the car out of the driveway.

"Ass."

"Come on, you can't wanna fix that bad. Ya just started a few months ago," he chided, but she was already blowing smoke in his face.

"Thinks you. Maybe I was a bad kid and started smoking in tenth grade."

He did a double take to make her laugh, which worked.

"What?"

"Just picturing bad-girl-Lyds smoking in a school uniform."

"It was an all girls school no less."

"Oh my god, thank you. If we crash and die it's your fault, ya know," he made grabbing motions until she passed over the clove and he could take a drag. "I completely believe you, by the way, a decade of practice is the only way you could enjoy these."

"I like shit that's bad for me," she joked lightly. He blinked at the dark road and eased up on the gas a bit. 

Lydia rolled the window down further, eyes closed in the cold wind. BJ just flexed his hands on the wheel to warm them and thought about tenth grade Lydia, wondering what she'd looked like and who she'd bought clove cigarettes from, and how she'd met them, and if she would have liked tenth grade BJ. Except he'd have been, what, twentysomething when she was in tenth grade? Would he have been selling her cigarettes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, he's becoming self aware! Well, only a little. 
> 
> This upcoming part of the story worries me a little: I don't know how well I'm gonna manage it. Monster porn, sure, easy. But character development and plot, not so sure on that. Erg. We'll see I guess!
> 
> Crits/comments/corrections keep me functioning! But really tho on the crits...


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's super easy not to break the law, until you get good at breaking the law. Then everything gets a but fuzzy.

He'd been quiet the whole drive home, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It felt like he was thinking something over, but she didn't want to pry.

The second she'd set her purse down on his kitchen counter, his fingers had been trailing up her arm, and she was pulled into a slow gentle kiss. When she pulled back and opened her mouth to speak, he'd just slipped a finger over her lips, so she'd smiled and not spoken. He pulled her back into another kiss, licking his way into her mouth in what she thought was probably thanks, then before she could properly nibble on his bottom lip he was pulling her into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom. 

She held in her giggles. At least, until he dropped her on the bed and made a little groan.

"Listen, I'm not weak, you're just heavy," he grumbled, then froze like he was just realizing what he'd said.

"Oh my god I love you, but you're a total asshole," she laughed, pulling him down onto the bed. Lydia tried to tug at his pants, but his hands stopped her.

"Wanted to take my time with ya," his voice was raw, and she stilled for a moment near-overwhelmed by everything, then nodded.

His lips were back on hers, soft, he tasted like mint gum and the clove they'd shared in the car, and he kissed her thoroughly. His hand slipped up her shirt, thumb tracing along each rib, making her moan into his mouth and thread her own fingers into his hair.

He was smiling as he pulled away to gently strip her out of her pants. He fumbled the buttons on her blouse, so she sat up and un unbuttoned them slowly, eyes on his as she moved. After the last button she stilled, letting him peel the cloth from her skin and place light kisses along her shoulders, letting him slip off her bra. He knelt, level with her, kissing her briefly before pushing her back onto the mattress and slipping off the last of her undergarments. She held still, biting her lip at the ceiling as he ran his tongue up the crease of her hip. He was kissing a line along her thigh, slowly trying to peel out of his own clothing. She sat back up and unbuttoned his shirt as he kneeled on the floor below her, pressing kisses to the revealed skin as she went, a mirror of his prior actions.

When she pulled back he was watching her with open adoration again, eyes soft and hands tracing up and down her calves, a distracted half smile on his lips. Lydia raised a hand, tracing the stubble on his cheek, the purple stain of exhaustion around his eye, brushing fingers along an unevenly trimmed sideburn and into long blonde hair. His hands were still as she leaned forward a pressed a kiss to the peak of his eyebrow, then the arch of his cheekbone, then corner of his lips.

She pulled back, watching his long blonde eyelashes flutter on closed eyes for a moment, then kissed him again, tugging him up onto the bed with her.

His hands were on her face, thumbs running a line along her cheeks, kissing her senseless as her hands quickly unbuttoned his pants, finally getting them skin to skin, making them both pause to breathe and cling to one another side by side on his lumpy futon.

BJ's hand moved to sling her leg over his hip, then slid between them to trace his fingers through her wet folds.

"Beej," she sighed his name while her hands gripped his shoulders, watching the way his eyebrows furrowed, the way his gaze was locked on her lips. She kissed him and he used her distraction to roll until he was above her, twist two fingers deep into her, and swallow the little sounds she was making with his lips.

"I love you," he murmured it, and they were all slow rolls and shared breaths, fingers laced together until she couldn't tell when she came or he came or what the difference was.

+++

It was too cold and the heating was shit and she'd had to skip lunch for some bullshit phone call and her feet hurt which really set the mood for Juno's afternoon. 

"And the prodigal son returns," she heard her secretary through the thin door say, but before she could think about it there was a thump of the door flying open and-

"Admit it, you missed me!" Bj kicked the door shut behind him, arms wide as though he was presenting himself as a prize.

"Ma'am?" A brassy voice called from behind the closed door, probably seconds away from calling security. 

"It's fine Leslie! Just… Cancel my three o'clock," Juno methodically opened her drawer and pulled out cigarettes, an ashtray, and air freshener, slamming each one onto her desk with a glare at the man before her. When she reached behind herself to slide open the window he snatched up the pack of cigarettes. She was about to complain, but he lit two quickly and handed one over, leaning his hip against her desk amicably. She glared at where the filter had been in his mouth and smoked it anyway.

"So, how's things?"

"Quiet, BJ, and no one's quit recently. How about you: working? At all?" She smiled thinly.

"Listen, I know our relationship started off on the wrong foot," he blew smoke away from the window and paused, looking for the right words.

"I had to blackmail you into putting the utilities for your apartment in your own name."

"And it worked, which really speaks to how well you understand your clients! Honestly you're the best caseworker a guy could ask for, going above and beyond to really get to know and speak to your clients in the language they get the best," He nodded sagely and sat in the chair across her crowded desk. She stared at him through dead eyes, realizing that he'd only actually been in her office once prior, that he only showed up when things were grim.

"What do you want."

"A job, just got a tiny bit fired from the last one-"

"Yes, the janitorial staffing agency mentioned you were let go."

"Mmm, mhmmm," he bounced his knee and took a too long drag.

"... And that while they couldn't prove you'd been stealing computer parts things went missing less often after you left."

He let the smoke out slowly, barely breathing.

"But they did fire three other guys, so who knows, right?" She kicked off her heels and put her feet on the desk, to hell with professionalism. "So you're unemployed."

"Under employed," he gestured with the burning end of his cigarette as if driving home a point. "No one in this city gets by on one job, no one."

"Oh? I do. Nurses do. Doctors do, librarians do, some of my other clients do…" 

He was picking his teeth and not looking at her, probably pretending her words were ineffective, but was ashing his cigarette instead of smoking which told her that had cut deeper than he'd like. She stubbed out her cigarette only half finished and let the silence stretch for a time before her conscious pride her jaw open.

"I really don't have anything for you right now, BJ. But I will look, alright?"

He nodded, stubbing out his cigarette as well, then stood.

"Thanks, Juno. I appreciate it," he only half-muttered the words, and she was genuinely shocked at his grace.

"Come by next Friday. I'll have something by then. Might even be something that suits you."

He waved a few fingers as he left without looking back. She expected to hear some banter between him and her secretary, but it was silent as he left. She used the febreeze liberally and hid away her cigarettes and ashtray once more before Leslie could catch her and chastise her about her fragile health or some bullshit. 

+++

"Job's done," BJ spoke, and had set his empty beer down on the rickety coffee table with a thunk just as Jake walked in.

"So I heard…" The thin man stopped in the doorway for a moment, before gulping down his drink and setting the empty tumbler next to BJ's bottle. "Firstly, let me open with the fact that I'm a bit pissed you just went off like a fuckin' lone wolf and pulled that shit when I had already strongly implied that I was against that, explicitly."

BJ scoffed, but didn't speak, and Jake went on with a smile.

"However in light of the stories I heard, I'm pretty disinclined to really give you shit or piss you off," Jake's smile turned into a grin, "Jesus fuckin Christ, BJ: what the fuck did you do to those kids? Only one broken arm and some property damage, but the stories they tell deserve campfires! It was just you, right? Because I heard a hilarious story that it was five guys in matching striped uniforms, which seemed unlikely."

"Yer feedin' my ego here, Jakey. It was just me."

"Okay, well, nice fucking job, do it again and I'll break your kneecaps," Jake straightening his jacket like he was uncomfortable with the threat. BJ tried to look serious and not laugh in the man's face, until Jake spoke again, "Anyway, I owe you a drink. Beer?"

BJ just stood, scooping up their empties and walking with Jake into the bar proper.

"Ginger, dear, can we get two more? Our friend BJ here is a terrifying monster and officially on the payroll!"

"Oh lord," Ginger rolled her eyes, but brought BJ a beer and poured another two fingers of whiskey into Jake's glass. "Well congratulations on that I guess."

"Drink with us Ginger!" BJ lifted his beer.

"Not a chance," she shot back. "I'm too classy to drink with you degenerates."

Jake laughed, and leaned over the bar to pull her into a kiss, which she went along with until she changed her mind and slapped him away gently.

"I'm working, asshole: who's gonna tip a bartender that's makin out with her husband all night?"

"Who's gonna tip a bartender that won't drink?" Jake countered.

"Hey, if a client is paying I'm more than happy to do shots of water and pretend to be sloshed. You doubting my acting skills there, Jakey?"

BJ turned out their banter and looked around the bar, taking in the warm glow and bass heavy music for a bit before checking his watch. 

"Oh shit, I gotta go!" He stood abruptly from his leaning posture, and caught Jake pulling his beer away from his exaggerated flail. 

"Gonna meet Lyds at the cafe?" Jake sipped BJ's beer, obviously not willing to let the man finish it then drive off. BJ found he was a little miffed and a little touched at the gesture.

"Yeah, like right now," he turned, arms open. "I look okay, sober, don't smell like your stripper wife or nothing?"

Ginger leaned over the bar to slap him in the face with a bar rag, "Get outta here, asshole!"

BJ was out the door before Jake even laughed, taking her dismissal as confirmation that he looked relatively together. He drove a scarce five miles over the speed limit until he got to the cafe, and managed to park near the door. With a curse he looked over the car and managed to jam the few beer cans from the back safely under the driver's seat. He was jumping out of the drivers side, about to run inside and ask if Lydia had already left to take the bus, when she walked out the door. He managed to change his sprint into a sudden lean against the hood of the car and feigned nonchalance. 

"I'm so sorry I was running late Beej! You weren't waiting too long were you?" She leaned in to kiss him where he was casually sitting next to the hood ornament.

"No babe, not too long. How was work?"

"A little short handed today, but not bad. You should tell Ginger to apply here, we need the staffing and I know she said she was looking for another job," she was climbing in through the driver's side of the car as she spoke. "Did Jake get you that job you were talking about?"

"Yeah," he slid in after her and glared past her at the still broken passenger door. "Yeah, I think he was able to put in a good word with his boss. First thing I'm doing is fix this fucking junk bucket."

Lydia laughed, and lit a cigarette while patting the dashboard, "I like this junk bucket, it's got good character. Come on, let's go get something greasy for dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's my backlog cleared out, now I'm going to have to actually write and post at the same rate. Oh god.
> 
> Anyway, he's trying, a little. Not much. He wants to be trying but also, eh, that seems like effort? And if he was meant to be a good guy wouldn't that be easy?
> 
> Comments/crits/corrections are super important and lovely. Feed me Seymour!


	18. Chapter 18

"Knock knock!" Lydia called out the words as she let herself into the house, juggling the bag of groceries with one hand.

"Lydia! We're in the kitchen. Adam, would you go help her?"

"I'm good!" Lydia smiled and tipped the door shut with her heel. Adam came out anyway and plucked the bag from her hands.

"Your moral excellence wasn't in question, Lydia," he said as though it was actually a funny joke, and Lydia laughed at the sheer Dad-ness of it.

"I would also have accepted 'Hi Good, I'm Adam.'"

"Ooh, don't tell Barbara that one, I'm going to use it!"  
"I regret ever learning to speak," she followed him into the kitchen, bending to hug Barbra deeply where she sat at the kitchen table. "Merry Christmas Barb! What's for breakfast?"

"French toast and eggs, sound good?"

"Sounds amazing! They had blueberries on sale so I got two packs, want me to whip up a quick blueberry jam for us?"

Barbra said something about "don't have to" but Adam was nodding with wide eyes behind her where he was unbagging the groceries.

"How was Christmas?" Lydia asked, pulling supplies from the cupboards like she lived there.

"Oh good! Adam's sister visited with her daughter, who is just moody and the epitome of teenage angst. She'd adore you, you'd absolutely be her idol, and her mother would hate it."

Lydia glanced over from where she was heating sugar and a splash of apple juice on the stove, "I feel like that last part is actually a selling point."

"Absolutely," Adam was pulling eggs from the refrigerator. "We should definitely have you two accidentally meet sometime at a family event."

Lydia nodded, dropping blueberries into the pan and getting out of Adam's way. She sat with Barbara at the table, and the older woman looked up innocently. 

"In fact," Barbara said slowly, "Maybe you could bring BJ by to visit. We could have a little get together?"

"He hasn't gotten any less abrasive, so you know," Lydia was studying her chipped black nail polish. She loved him, but wasn't blind to his personality: her boyfriend was sort of an asshole.  
Adam snorted and then put something into a pan which sizzled deliciously.

"No, I know," Barbara shrugged, looked like she was trying to find the words. "He is who he is. I didn't get to know him very well, in the hospital, but I didn't think it mattered then. You two are close now, it matters now, and I feel like I should spend the time to know him better." She nodded, like that decided it.

Lydia scraped a line of black off her thumb and nodded. It made sense when Barbara said it that way, and after all Beej had met her parents, had endured a sober Christmas dinner.

"I'll find out when he's free."

"Lydia, your jam… Is that steam or smoke?" Adam interrupted, which led to several fast-paced minutes and the subject of a dinner was utterly forgotten by the time the smoke detector finally went silent.

+++

BJ had agreed to the dinner with bad grace and the caveat that he did indeed work that evening but expected to be free by six at night. If he'd been crossing his fingers when he said "work," well, Lydia was beautiful and clever and thankfully not always that perceptive when he was involved. 

He'd also slipped both hands under her clothing once he had realized where the conversation was going, hoping that she'd be distracted, but no luck. Her distraction had let him gloss over what exactly "work" was, but he'd still been roped into another play-nice dinner with in-laws-2.0 and that was beyond frustrating. 

So as he sat in his piece of shit car waiting for a text from Jake he was dreading the upcoming evening. Firstly, it wasn't even a sure thing that he would be "working" tonight: Jake was making a deal with this asshole, these fucking gutter punk's boss, and BJ was to be called in if and only if that deal went poorly or wasn't made. It would be three guys living in their fucking uncle's house with a sand stash of coke and no idea he was coming. And, damnit, he had some frustration he wanted to work through. 

Secondly, he wanted to wear his stripes both to this assault-about-to-happen and to dinner, which meant that he needed to be relatively careful not to get blood on the coat. It was his favorite damn coat, and since he'd started being the muscle for Jake's little operation the stripes had earned a reputation for grim violence. It was handy, people were so caught up in remembering the coat that they forgot his face, which was fine by him.

On a purely conscious level BJ knew this probably meant he had to stop wearing the damn jacket out except for this kind of "work." But he refused to recognize that thought, and so put it off for another day. It wasn't like anyone was going to ID him from a coat, and it was almost certain that none of the idiots he was injuring were going to the cops afterward.

He was bored. His knee jittered, he hummed a tune, he started drumming aggressively on the steering wheel. By the time his phone chimed, BJ was so tight wound he almost launched himself into the building without looking at the message, but he managed to pause as he slammed the car door shut.

"Go time," the text read. He sent back a grinning face and leaned into the back seat to drop the phone in the center console of the car and pull out a short baseball bat. 

Someone shot at him when he came in through the back door, but their aim was shit and one bat swing and broken hand later BJ was flinging the handgun through the plate glass of a large kitchen window. Every dog in the neighborhood was awake and interested, but there wasn't any human sound, the locals being too smart to get involved. And while the gun had been a minor surprise, the real surprise had been the sound of more than a few guys about to rush the room. This wasn't three guys in their uncle's house, this was a Crew, and BJ had mixed feelings about that fact.

On the one hand he did indeed have a lot of frustration he would just love to take out on these guys. On the other hand, more than three guys was too many, and the fucker currently drooling onto the linoleum dining room floor had been shooting a rather nice handgun. More of those would be an issue.

Weeks ago at the bar BJ and Jake and a few other idiots had talked about fistfights, and Jake had mentioned the confusing rush of a fight, the adrenaline rush, the ringing he'd hear. Everyone had nodded sagely like this was the normal process, and BJ had wisely kept his trap shut, just allowed his eyebrows to express his abject confusion.

Fights weren't confusing, they were linear and simple and quiet. Unless he was laughing, and he was absolutely cackling during this fight.

Two men came in through the open doorway to the living room, neither with a gun drawn, and both went down easy with quick hits to the gut then temples. 

A third guy did get a few shots off down a stairway, but his aim was shit and he went down reloading a six shot. What kind of drug dealers shot revolvers? BJ asked the guy, but the man was busy screaming and clutching broken fingers, so BJ tapped him on the skull and moved to the second floor.

There was only one guy, and his gun wasn't in his hand, so he tried to dive for it while BJ tried to keep him on the other side of the room. The baseball bat got stuck in a wall at one point, and when he couldn't get it loose he shrugged at the guy, "What can ya do, ya know?"

The kid grabbed a knife.

Despite the lack of conscious memories on how to disarm a knife wielding opponent BJ found his limbs remembered the task just fine. It was only four minutes until the house was silent, then two more to find the duffle bag full of what looked like cocaine. Way more cocaine than BJ had expected. 

On the way out he aimed a sharp kick at someone on the floor who was moving, the man who had once held a gun, then left the house by the back door and headed to the bar. Three blocks away he felt the itch on his side, and felt the slick slide of blood when he scratched.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

He called Jake as he pulled into the alley behind the bar.

"We said no calls," Jake said.

"Come out back with Ginger. Now," He flipped the phone shut and slid across the bench seat with the engine still running, then waited for the back door to open. After a minute he grimaced before even looking down, and actually looked at his stomach. 

He couldn't see if it was a cut or a graze from a bullet, either way not deep, and the blood was oozing rather than pulsing. That was good.

His jacket was red and black. That sucked.

"Fuck," he muttered as the back door slammed open, then "Jake get in the fucking car."

"Holy shit," Jake said.

"Oh my god," Ginger's voice was low.

"It's fine, I'm fine, it's fucking fine. Been worse. Ging, grab the bag from the backseat and get inside. Jake, get in the fuckin car," BJ realized he was growling the words out, but Ginger jumped forward and grabbed the bag so she at least understood him. It took Jake a bit longer to get into the car.

"Oh my god, we have to go to the hospi-" Jake started

"Are you fuckin stupid?" BJ stared. "Does Ginger have a sewing kit at your house?"

"Yeah..?"

"Take me home then, asshole. We're not going to the fucking hospital."

Jake was driving too fast, and BJ told him so, pressing a hand to his side while swearing at the kid about driving exactly two miles over the speed limit because cops would notice too fast or too slow.

It had started to really hurt by the time the kid parked the car, and BJ was just thinking to worry about his upholstery, then Jake was pulling him from the car and they were inside and he was once more applying pressure while Jake looked for a sewing kit.

"Hey Jakey, I'm gonna wait in your kitchen," BJ sat on the tile floor.

“Stay fucking conscious, asshole!” 

“Oh good, you’re past shock and into frustration, that’s useful. Hold onto that. Because, you know, I wasn’t totally aware of the situation. I didn’t realize how BAD things were. I’m only BLEEDING OUT on your FUCKING FLOOR!”

“Shut the fuck up and hold still!” Jake was trying to thread a straight needle, and BJ batted it away. “What the fuck?”

“Upholstery needle,” BJ said. “The curved one.” 

“I swear I am going to kick your ass later.”

I took Jake a half hour to put in fifteen stitches, and BJ had to talk him through eerie single fucking knot. In the end they got it done, the bleeding had stopped about halfway through, or at least slowed, and at some point Ginger was there, soaking his coat in a sink of cold water and handing Jake gauze pads and passing out some kind of little yellow pills that were amazing. 

“Ginger. Ginge. Gingey.” 

“How you doing there Beej?” Ginger was sitting on the counter, disturbingly calm, drinking a soda. Jake was sitting on the floor below her, next to BJ, staring into the middle distance and leaning against his wife's legs. 

“I’m good. I feel much better. Hey could you text Lyds and make up a lie about why I’m not at dinner right now?” 

“You fell and hit your head, are fine, but we’re worried about a concussion and don’t want you driving so you’re staying here for the night to be kept awake. I sent it from your phone,” Ginger held up his phone to prove her point. “Didn’t want Lydia worrying.”

“Marry me.” 

“Can’t, already married Jake.” 

“Leave him, marry me. Listen, I’ll help raise the kid, it’s fine.” 

Jake started, stared up at his wife, “Babe, I didn’t tell him-” 

“It’s fine, he figured it out, didn’t ya Beetlejuice?” Ginger sounded funny somehow. BJ closed his eyes, but she went on even though he’d effectively turned off the world. He heard her hop off the counter, leaning over him now, “Beetle here is smarter than he lets on, isn’t he? Remembers more than he lets on too.” 

“Tactical advantage, babe.” 

“Why do you need a tactical advantage with your friends?” Ginger asked. 

“Babe,” Jake scrambled up to standing, a clatter of metal and chains and leather. 

BJ kept his eyes closed, tried to focus past whatever Ginger had given him. Ginger was doing something in the sink, draining it? Refilling? Jake sounded like he was cleaning up, scrapes of a washcloth on the floor, more sloshing water. I had been too long a wait to answer, it had taken him minutes or hours to think of what to say. He pried his eyes open, looked up at the woman at the sink. 

“‘M sorry.” 

Ginger glanced down at him, shook her head, “Rest, you idiot. You’re not allowed to die on my floor, Lyds would never forgive me. Besides, I lied about a concussion, but she’s gonna notice that little nick on your side: spend your time thinking of how you’re gonna explain that to her.”

“Ah shit,” BJ muttered, then winced and tried his best to black out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA. HA. AN UPDATE. You all thought forgot this existed, my god, I really had, but here it is, AN UPDATE.  
> Hopefully that'll tide y'all over for a bit because I really do want to finish Yildun.
> 
> Edit: I swear I'm still working on this fic butni found this image and couldn't wait for an update to share it guys.
> 
> https://incorrectmagnusarchives.tumblr.com/post/642400619607490560/jon-finds-this-in-his-office-at-the-beginning-of


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